


What the Storm Brings --OUTDATED--

by Illusionary_Oblivion_25



Category: Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Wild ARMs Altercode: F
Genre: Because Zet is definitely crazy, Crane is creepy and fun, Eventually this will have pretty much all of the Arkham cast..., Headcanons for both sources!, How do I tag?, I don't use 'Zed' I use 'Zet', Maybe some other Bat-Characters too, Sorry Not Sorry, Such headcanon much theories, fear toxin, more tags to add later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 08:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11847672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illusionary_Oblivion_25/pseuds/Illusionary_Oblivion_25
Summary: When a freak storm sweeps over Arkham Island, it brings with it something that no Gothamite could have predicted.(Knowledge of both sources is preferable but not really necessary... Batman knowledge is more important with this one, Wild ARMs stuff will be mostly explained or otherwise alluded to. Uses the made-up word ‘verdanet’ for ‘green-haired [male] person’.)UPDATE: I'm going to rewrite this, and post the updated version as a separate story. Sorry about the delay for getting further chapters, but I've realised that I was handling this rather poorly. Thanks for your understanding, and I hope my second attempt will be better.





	1. Part 1

The storm shook the island relentlessly, and had already more or less isolated Arkham from the outside world for a whole day by the time that Warden Quincy Sharp found himself staring at the guard in his office. The poor man was soaked through and through, both from the endless rain and a strange grey liquid that looked far heavier than it should have, and wrung his hands nervously while shifting from foot to foot.

 

“Could you repeat that?” Sharp asked after taking a deep breath.

 

Jolting slightly at the warden’s voice, the guard nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. We found someone down by the pier –a kid, it looks like– and he’s seriously injured and…” He snapped his mouth shut and forced a shuddering breath of his own before continuing. “We took him up to Medical, but figured that it was best to inform you. Couldn’t do it over radio from the storm’s interference.”

 

Sharp nodded slowly, then allowed a small frown to cross his face. “Are they an inmate?”

 

“No, sir, never seen him before, and he’s wearing completely different stuff anyways.”

 

“Very well. Innocent until proven guilty, after all, yes? I want to be kept updated on his state, but there’s little reason to deny someone care simply for landing on the wrong shoreline.”

 

**~*~|Not One Straw Out of Place|~*~**

 

Word of the new arrival spread like wildfire among the inmates, each eager to learn just what sorts of tricks or outright strangeness the rookie possessed. An unlucky few passing through the medical centre had already caught glimpses of the newcomer; they returned with vague and sometimes conflicting descriptions of a lean figure with eyes that may or may not gleam like an animal’s, young –although no-one was quite able to pinpoint how young, yet– and prone to literally snapping at the staff when awake. No-one even seemed to be able to learn just what was keeping the newcomer there, as conversation on the topic rarely sparked for long enough.

 

As such, when Doctor Jonathan Crane found himself sitting on the bed beside the talk of the asylum with his arm and ribs in the process of healing from an unfortunate encounter with a guard’s unrestrained temper, he resolved to learn what those before him did not.

 

Soft snores could be heard from the other bed, although he rather thought that it sounded a little more like the purring of a cat than one of the most undignified sounds a human is capable of producing, drawing a quiet scoff from him. In many ways, Jonathan was glad that the other occupant of the room was asleep for now, as it allowed him to observe them when at their most vulnerable… and it also kept noise to a minimum.

 

The newcomer slept coiled up like the cat they so sounded like, limbs tangled in the thin blanket and head tucked somewhere out of sight. Murmurs that would have been inaudible, had there been a single other person present, could be heard every now and then, and Jonathan felt an eyebrow rise when he realised that the murmuring –what little he could catch of it– was not in any language he’d ever heard. He hummed softly to himself, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. It would either be intriguing or infuriating, once they actually woke up.

 

When a young nurse came in to check on the two of them, Jonathan didn’t have to try very hard to feign disinterest, merely complying with the mundane requests to ‘take your pills, Mister Crane’, ‘does this hurt, Mister Crane’… For once, he didn’t even snarl back at her that he had earned his doctorate and should be respected as such. After all, what he was really after were the scenes that were sure to unfold in front of him, if he just waited…

 

The nurse checked on the apparatuses hooked up to the newcomer first, then –once she was fully satisfied– opening her mouth. “It’s time to wake up, young man.” She didn’t touch him at all, something Jonathan filed away for later contemplation. “Come now,” she urged in the sweet tone that all nurses in Arkham were trained to use. “You don’t want to sleep the day away, do you?”

 

That seemed to break through the newcomer’s haze-filled brain, as the purring sound silenced in favour of a low groan. The coil of thin fabric and limbs loosened enough for a spiky shock of moss-green hair and half-lidded golden eyes to appear from the makeshift cocoon. Those eyes flicked from the nurse, to the door, and then to Jonathan –he was surprised to note that they really did seem to gleam in the low light– before returning to rest on the nurse and narrowing further.

 

Unperturbed, the nurse simply smiled. “How are you feeling, today?” Despite the deliberately-pleasant tone –or maybe because of it, because Jonathan had certainly found it personally insulting on more than one occasion– the newcomer let out a sound that could only be called a harsh growl, lifting their head to bare sharp teeth at her, and given a better look at the newcomer’s face, Jonathan resolved to think of them as a ‘he’ from now on, coupled with the nurse’s phraseology. “Now really, is that necessary?”

 

Now it was a tongue, poking out childishly. “…Th’fuck d’you want?” The nurse’s smile widened, and Jonathan even allowed himself a tiny twitch of the lip. It was good to know that communication wouldn’t be utterly impossible, should the need arise. In response, the young verdanet huffed and shifted, moving to sit while clearly favouring his left side. “It’s no surprise that the damn thing still hurts, I bet.”

 

Nodding, the nurse moved closer, her hands hovering over the arm Jonathan could now see wrapped snugly around the youngster’s ribs. “May I?” she asked, earning herself another snarl. “I promise that I won’t hurt you more than absolutely necessary.”

 

Doctor Crane blinked slowly. That was an unusual approach; typically, the nurses promised no pain at all, and very rarely bothered waiting for permission to tend to their patients. Perhaps the boy had reacted poorly to the usual method? He watched through a mask of boredom as the newcomer grumbled wordlessly and moved his arm to allow the nurse access. It was only then that Jonathan realised something very peculiar… The boy was wearing a form-fitting blue jumpsuit that looked entirely out-of-place compared to the looser orange uniform of an Arkham inmate, under which he could see glints of metal and a cavity that had no right to be there. Not when he was conscious, anyway.

 

Gloved hands nudged gently at the open wound, garnering little more than sharp hissing from the animal-eyed boy –surprising, considering his earlier protestation. “Oh, yes, this does look like it’s healing nicely. Have you told anyone here at Arkham how you got this terrible thing, yet?”

 

“Ran into a trident, and said hello to a lightning rod. Then rocks. Lots of sharp, pointy rocks.” The newcomer’s voice was impressively deadpan, even with the occasional hiss and twitch. The nurse gave him a look that Jonathan easily recognised as placating, but found himself believing the curt reply. It would explain the damage at least, albeit not the youngster’s survival.

 

“Well, that was a silly thing to do, wasn’t it?” the nurse admonished lightly, clearly not expecting a response. Apparently happy with the state of the injury, she turned her attention to the verdanet’s face, producing a penlight from her pocket. “I need you not to bite me when I touch your face, okay? I want to see how your eyes are going, now.”

 

Biting rumour, confirmed –and given the fanglike eyeteeth, Jonathan wasn’t really expecting anything less.

 

He watched the boy’s eyes narrow again, zeroing in on the appendage closest to his face. It was obvious that he was far from comfortable with her being as close as she was… so the newcomer’s obedience puzzled him. Another detail to pursue later.

 

“I’ll bite if I want to.” The boy growled, though it seemed half-hearted, especially when he did nothing other than let out a low whine with each flash of light into his eyes. Giving another happy nod, the nurse clicked the penlight off and jotted something down on the youngster’s file, or what Jonathan assumed was such. “When do I get to leave?”

 

She paused, humming tunelessly. “Well, if you can stay awake long enough, I can inform Warden Sharp that you’re up for a chat. Would you like me to do that?” A sharp jerk of his head was all the answer she got, and she strode briskly out of the room with her wide smile still in-place.

 

Jonathan remained silent, lazily sweeping his gaze around the room for a full minute before he allowed it to settle on the verdanet, only to find the boy staring straight back at him. He blinked deliberately, then offered a smile –one that he gave often while working at the university, one that he’d been told made people think he was a ‘pleasant man’.

 

He watched with no small amount of approval as the boy’s brow furrowed with suspicion. Good, Jonathan didn’t appreciate fools.

 

“Who’re you?” the newcomer asked testily, shifting his still-covered right arm slightly.

 

“Doctor Jonathan Crane, although I also answer to Scarecrow, on occasion,” he replied smoothly. Strangely, the boy’s face scrunched up with frustration, prompting another raised brow from him. “And you?”

 

“Zet,” he grumbled, scowling. The youngster’s expression dared Jonathan to do something, but he wasn’t sure what… so, he simply nodded, taking the boy’s odd name in stride; perhaps it was his alias? When the expected response apparently didn’t come, the sour mood that had bent the boy’s spine lifted as if it was never there, earning Jonathan a toothy smile, of all things. “Okay, you’re about ten thousand times better than everyone else, so far.”

 

Jonathan allowed a snort to escape him. “Really? Why do you say that?”

 

The boy’s –Zet’s, he reminded himself– right shoulder jerked up and down. “You didn’t ask if that’s all. Everyone else that asked my name thought there had to be more to it than that. There isn’t.” Jonathan filed that away, as well. “Plus, I like ‘Jonathan’ better than ‘Quincy’… it sounds more like a name, even if it’s longer than ones I’m used to.”

 

“It is one of the longer names around,” he conceded after a moment. He hadn’t anticipated being ‘liked’, and certainly not so quickly. Then again, if the verdanet’s pride had been bruised by everyone else he’d met so far in Arkham, then perhaps it wasn’t quite so surprising after all. Although, it was time to learn more; with the apparent fondness the boy had towards him, he could bypass some of the extra time he’d planned for. “Why are you in here, Zet?”

 

A noncommittal grunt came from the other bed. “Psh, I don’t know… Apparently the guards found me washed up on the shore, and then I was put in here when they saw I had part of my side missing… What about you, and can I call ya something shorter than ‘Jonathan’?”

 

“Jon will do fine, as will Crane. As for why I’m here…” the doctor trailed off with a low hum. Should he tell the boy the truth? It sounded rather like he had no clue as to where they were, and it seemed almost unduly-cruel to keep the truth from him on that matter… then again, Jonathan did so dislike it when he was looked at as less than what he was. “There are people who believe that I’m unwell, more than you can undoubtedly see already.”

 

Zet tilted his head, then nodded a few moments later. “So, you mean that people think you’re crazy…”

 

“Yes, that is what I meant.” He kept his tone carefully even, unwilling to prod the boy in either direction.

 

“…You don’t seem crazy to me… You seem less crazy than anyone I ever bothered learning the name of, actually.” Zet stated matter-of-factly. In response, Jonathan smiled and dipped his head. Of course, that was saying nothing about the boy’s own tendencies, but he wasn’t about to ruin a good run with a mere detail… not yet, anyway. “Can people even treat craziness…?”

 

The much quieter tone surprised him, and he found himself tilting his head as well. “Most often, yes, if you know what you’re doing, and have the resources to do it.”

 

“Huh… I didn’t know that.”

 

Jonathan regarded the newcomer once more, while the boy’s thoughts seemed to stray from the room. Young, sometimes acting even younger than he looked, with a propensity for violence… especially when regarding his personal space. Definite and unwilling exposure to multiple individuals he considered to be ‘crazy’, although there were possibly some whose company he enjoyed. The boy trusted easily, it seemed, and appeared to be a terrible judge of character… He felt like he knew the verdanet quite well, already.

 

“Hey, Crane? They’ll let me outta here if I pretend to be normal, right?”

 

“Of course,” he replied with a smile. “There’d be no reason for them to do otherwise.”

 

**~*~|Signed, Sealed, Delivered|~*~**

 

Warden Sharp arrived with the nurse from earlier half an hour after the newcomer had retreated into near-silence –albeit filling the room with soft humming of tunes that sounded almost familiar to the doctor. Ignoring Jonathan’s presence, the stout man strode over to Zet’s bed with more than his usual air of pompousness. Doctor Crane found it unusually difficult to keep the smirk off of his face when he noticed the boy grimace.

 

Either oblivious to or simply ignoring his expression, the warden fixed his gaze on the verdanet’s face. “I heard that you were coherent, now.”

 

“Yep, so, what’d ya wanna say?” Zet countered easily, a grin that was perhaps a little too toothy set firmly in place.

 

Sharp rested heavily on his cane, one hand coming up to adjust his glasses. “For starters, where did you come from most recently, Mister Zet?”

 

Another grimace, this time with what seemed to be an involuntary retching noise. “No ‘mister’, just ‘Zet’. Sheesh, can you people just get that right, already?” the boy groaned. “As for where I’m from…” He paused, opening his mouth fruitlessly a few times before snapping it shut with an audible clack and a growl. “I…don’t think you’d’ve heard of it, before. It’s a tiny place up north.”

 

Interesting… The hesitance suggested a lie, but everything that Jonathan had garnered already about the boy suggested that he was a terrible liar. Avoidance behaviours when faced with conflict or confrontation were added to the doctor’s growing mental notes. To the youngster’s credit, there wouldn’t be many who would bother pressing him for further details; not in Arkham’s walls, anyway. Sharp let out a toneless hum, his face pinching in response to the boy’s words.

 

“You’re hardly dressed for such a climate, but I digress,” he said, before straightening his back to regard Zet at his full – _meagre_ , a quiet voice in the back of Jonathan’s mind insisted with a warped cackle– height. “Onto the next question. Your considerable injuries, how did you receive them?”

 

One green eyebrow arched from its place above Zet’s half-lidded eyes. “Are you seriously asking me that? You wouldn’t believe me, if you don’t believe what I’ve already said, fruit bowl.”

 

The room fell silent for all of a second while the other occupants processed his choice of words, then Jonathan let out a low chuckle that –despite raising his free hand to his mouth in an effort to muffle it– rang loudly in his ears even as the warden started to splutter indignantly. Unable to refrain from some form of comment, the doctor drawled out, “ _All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel_ …”

 

“That’s enough, Crane!” Sharp bit out, rounding on him.

 

Jonathan eyed the shorter man’s reddening face with a sort of disjointed fascination; really, he could barely help himself… “ _The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun, pop goes the weasel~_.” The nurse had disappeared, no doubt to find an available guard just in case things went awry, but he was pleasantly surprised to find amused golden eyes fixed on him from the other bed. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge once in a while, would it? “ _Down by the bay, where the watermelons grow, back to my home, I dare not go, ‘cause if I do, my mother will say, ‘Did you ever see a pig? Wearing a wig?’, down by the bay_.”

 

“You got on that because I said ‘fruit bowl’?” Zet asked with a wide grin. When Jonathan nodded, smirking, the boy let out an unabashed snicker. “Yup, I like you.”

 

Fighting to compose himself, the warden cleared his throat, pointedly turning away from Doctor Crane. “Before you get too comfortable in each other’s presence, I’m afraid that I still have questions for you, young man.” A mutinous groan from the verdanet made Sharp’s shoulders tense visibly. “I was told by the guards who found you on our shores that you were apparently conversing with someone or something that they couldn’t see, in your shocking bout of lucidity when they pulled you from the water. Would you care to elaborate on that?”

 

“Lucidity means being fully awake, and all that shit, right?” Zet countered, perhaps a beat or two too late to completely dissuade the warden’s obvious assumptions. At the nod he got in response, a flicker of frustration danced across the boy’s face. Jonathan felt his spine straighten and his head tilt to one side in interest; now things were getting into the realm of what he was particularly curious about… slowly. “I’m not even sure I was ‘lucid’. Sure, my eyes were open and I was doing stuff, but… you try to suggest that someone who’s sleepwalking is nuts, fruit bowl?”

 

Another chuckle to bite down, another flush of red on the warden’s skin… It was as if the youngster’s defence mechanisms included getting people angry with him, which was rather ludicrous, all things considered. Unfortunately for Zet, the attempts to avoid the topic hinted at some truths within it, and anyone with half a brain could see the boy was somewhat nervous to address it head-on. Then again, his presented argument was reasonably valid.

 

Quincy Sharp, however, was unconvinced. In fact, he seemed slightly triumphant. “You haven’t answered my question.”

 

The verdanet sent Warden Sharp a heated animal-like glare, his upper lip pulling back from his teeth in a way that struck Jonathan as being very reminiscent of Mister Jones’ progressively-less human range of expressions. “No point, fruit bowl, you’ve already decided. Don’t feel like arguing with fruit.” The words came out in a strangled growl, clipped and laden with sudden ire… which appeared to deflate from the boy’s body moments later, only to be replaced with tense exasperation. “I didn’t talk to anyone that wasn’t there. I may have thought aloud, but lots of people do that.”

 

“Yes,” Sharp agreed tersely. “Especially in an asylum, so I am quite familiar with that behaviour.” Zet’s eyes widened once he heard the threat laced into the warden’s reply, and he opened his mouth to retort only to be interrupted by both the return of the nurse with two guards, but also Sharp’s next statement. “For now, we are going to need you to stay with us, young man, until we can be certain that you don’t already belong here.”

 

Jonathan’s brow furrowed, unsure whether to point out the many flaws in that plan or to stay silent for the chance to better satiate his curiosity. If it weren’t for the boy’s snappishness, he’d likely have been shipped to one of the hospitals in Gotham once the storm that had cut off road access had passed. Silence won out, and he watched the warden leave the room in a huff, flanked by the guards who could see their aid was unneeded. The nurse remained, however, with a brand new folder in her hands as she attempted to pry the appropriate information out of the stunned boy for his upcoming tenure.

 

“So, do you have any dietary requirements, Mister Zet?”

 

A crooked grin spread slowly across Doctor Crane’s face, and he let out a pleased hum. “… _Doctor Foster went to Gloucester, in a shower of rain, he stepped in a puddle, right up to his middle, and never was heard from again_ …”

 

**~*~|Dress to Impress|~*~**

 

It took another few days before the medical staff were confident in releasing Zet into the care of the rest of the asylum; no matter how fervently he insisted that, once the skin was fully repaired, there was no need for any sort of concern. Every poke and prod and questioning look he got from the nurses and guards simply served to make him bristle all the more, boredom and pent-up energy combining in a toxic mixture that nearly had the verdanet chewing through his own wrists… or the nurses’ wrists, as he honestly came to care less and less about seeming ‘normal’ the longer he had to endure their syrupy voices.

 

He cast a forlorn glance at the now-empty bed beside his –Crane having been moved to a different room not long after Fruit Bowl had left, and leaving Zet’s nerves to grow rawer without anyone to talk to. The solitude managed to eat at him; despite his best efforts, the room shrank from the overbearing silence.

 

“Now, I’m just being ridiculous…” he muttered, then paused to listen to the sound bounce from wall to wall. Like a bouncy-ball.

 

_Ridiculous… what a glorious understatement._

 

Zet’s eyes flicked from surface to surface, a sardonic smirk spreading across his face, as he imagined a glowing orange mass of plasma and faces acting like a manic spring all over the room. Even his ‘uncle’ knew better than to leave him without anything to occupy his mind for too long, and that guy was probably more crazy than any of the ‘crazies’ here.

 

_Like you’re any different._

 

A scowl replaced the smirk and he snorted, drawing his knees up to his chest and resolutely burying his face in them. “Oh, that’s helpful!” The verdanet growled, shoulders tensing as a mental image of a fang-filled mouth grinning maliciously filled his vision. “Isn’t there something better to do?”

 

_You could play with them…_

 

“Bad idea.”

 

_Or you could sleep… Aren’t you tired? Isn’t this mind-numbing place sapping your strength?_

 

Arms wrapping tightly around his legs, Zet tried to force his thoughts in another direction. What was happening back home, in his absence, did anyone notice he wasn’t there? When would he be able to chat with that weird-yet-interesting Crane guy again? What slop would they try to shovel down his throat today? Would they be stupid enough to use another needle on him?

 

 _You’re stalling~…_ Dark mirth flooded his system, drawing out a shudder as the vicious cold washed up his spine. _Are you afraid of playing a much more serious game?_

 

Thankfully, he was spared from any further chills –from that source, at least– as the door opened to reveal the nurse he saw most often, flanked by two guards, one of whom was holding an orange bundle of cloth. Startled out of his thoughts, he stared back at them. The guard with empty hands twitched. “…Hi.” Zet said lamely with an awkward smile.

 

The nurse smiled back with the same fake cheer she always did. “Good morning, Mister Zet.” Oh yes, they still weren’t listening to him when he said ‘just Zet’… “Today, you get to be released from Medical, isn’t that nice?” She didn’t wait for his reply, and simply continued. “I just need to unhook you from all of those nasty machines, and then these gentlemen will be taking you to get properly settled in with the others.”

 

“Uhm, sure… Go ahead.” It was nice that they’d quickly learned that he hated most of the apparatuses that they insisted on tethering to his body, as well as being touched by people wearing white –he hated white, with a passion, and they just couldn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t the ‘being touched’ part it was the ‘wearing white’ part because it made him think of… Zet bit into his cheek with a slight frown, cutting off that train of thought before it went too far.

 

_She’d look so much better in red, don’t you think? Staring in wide-eyed wonderment at what you can do?_

 

Oblivious, the nurse went about her business, turning off the machines and jotting down notes for a few minutes before turning to the guards and nodding.

 

“Right, time to get moving, kid.” The empty-handed guard said, gesturing over his shoulder at the door. Careful not to spring to his feet and startle the people with guns –even though they hadn’t drawn them, Zet could still see them, strapped there at their waists– the golden-eyed youth untangled his limbs and stood up painfully slowly. “You good? Heard that there was some massive gash or something…”

 

“Ah, yeah, I’m good.” Zet grinned at them, trying to be careful not to bare too much of his teeth at them and make them get jumpy. “Just an altercation with… sharp things. I’m sure y’know how that can get, right?”

 

The other guard snorted softly, then took the lead through the rather worn-looking corridors. There was no point trying to memorise the route they led him down, Zet decided… he had no intention of coming back ever again. Instead, he simply followed along obediently –and that certainly made his skin crawl– until they had not only left the building but led him into another, with one corridor blending almost seamlessly into the next.

 

When the small group stopped, Zet nearly bumped into the guard in front of him, barely managing to shake himself back to reality, as opposed to the middle-of-nowhere that his brain had flown away to. “Ah! Oops…” He offered a sheepish smile only for it to falter at the bundle that was then being shoved into his hands. “Uhm…?”

 

Rolling his eyes, the newly-liberated guard jabbed a finger at the orange cloth and then at Zet’s chest. “Get changed. You can do it over there, but don’t bother trying to run.” Gold eyes followed the guard’s line of sight to a set of cloth panels standing in the far corner of the room, narrowing at the man’s tone. “We don’t have all day, so unless you don’t wanna eat anything, hurry up.”

 

Eating was good, and he did want something chewy for once, so… He looked down at the bundle in his hands, frowned, then zipped behind the offered panels. These weirdos had already seen too much of Zet’s skin for him to be entirely comfortable with changing in the open. In the relative privacy of the corner, he shook out the bundle; a jumpsuit, not unlike the one he wore by choice, with built-in straps and buckles around various parts of the garment. A quick glance at the wrecked outfit he arrived in was all he needed to make his decision… although, the fact that he still wasn’t quite sure what kind of place he’d landed in definitely didn’t help.

 

_Seems like a glorified cage, don’t you think?_

 

“Shut up…” Zet hissed under his breath, even as he shucked off the remains of his own clothes, taking care to set one particular piece aside. Having been tucked safely away in his suit since before his arrival –his ‘uncle’ knew how much it meant to him, he knew what it could trigger in him, when threatened– the verdanet had managed to keep the long orange scarf out of sight from the staff. However, seeing that the clothes they expected him to wear were a similar enough colour, Zet deemed it safe enough to resume wearing it proudly.

 

_What will you do, if they disagree…? Will you bite them? Will you twist their bodies? Will you play a… darker… game with them?_

 

They had no real reason to disagree, so he could resolutely ignore that line of thinking. Another nip to his own cheek and Zet could concentrate once more. Two arms, two legs, up onto the shoulders and… The looser garment felt strange, he noted idly as he checked it over for any fastenings he might have missed when putting it on. When nothing met his search, he picked up his scarf and emerged from the corner.

 

The guards’ attention snapped to the accessory almost immediately, their frowns making Zet cock his head to the side. “What?”

 

“That’s…” the one who had spoken to him first started, gesturing vaguely at him.

 

“…A scarf. My scarf, to be exact. I figured, since it’s orange too, there wouldn’t be a problem.” Puzzlement oozed from every pore, and the youth nearly let out a colourful string of curses when he noticed their expressions grow increasingly confused as well. “See?” he asked quickly, slipping the loose loops around his neck and ensuring that the knot was behind his neck just like he liked it, loving the familiarity of the slight weight brushing his calves even through the thicker material –maybe they really were right, when everyone kept telling him that it was unduly long. “Nothing wrong with it, right?”

 

“You can’t wear that,” the other guard bit out.

 

Zet froze. “…Can’t?” he asked lowly, dangerously, voice dripping with a sudden poison. Picking up on his tone, both of the guards moved to grip the batons slung from their belts. “I’m wearing a uniform for some place that I still don’t fucking know where or what is, and you’re saying that I can’t wear… my… scarf…?”

 

The nicer one –the one who actually tried to talk to him at first– held out his unoccupied hand, plastering a small smile onto his face. “Hey, take it easy, kiddo. We’re just trying to follow the rules, here.”

 

“There’s a rule that says ‘no scarves’?” Anger snapped at the back of Zet’s mind, cold and hot in equal –searing– measure. His stance shifted, feet further apart, spine curved, weight perched on his toes, fingers itching to curl –to pierce– like the claws he didn’t have.

 

“Not so much that as ‘limited personalisation’…” The guard continued, before sharing a look with his companion. “Tell ya what, kiddo, how about we all just calm down a bit and we’ll see about letting you keep that.” Following a head-jerk to the door, the other guard left the room while reaching for the radio strapped to his shoulder. “It’s either that, or we take it for now and you can get it back later…”

 

A deep growl told him all that he needed to know, but Zet swallowed the sound after a few seconds, and forced himself to take a deep breath. “…You’re not taking it… I’ll calm down, you’ll calm down, we’ll all calm down.”

 

_How pathetic. Getting so agitated over an ancient scrap of fabric…_

 

“Y’will? Great, good to hear it.” Relaxing slightly –not completely, still not trusting, still touching the baton– the guard stepped back to rap his knuckles on the door. “When you’re ready, we’ll take you to the communal lounge. You already made friends with someone else in here, didn’t ya? I’m guessing you’d like to see ‘em again.” As he spoke, the other guard returned wearing a stiff, irritated expression. Again, the pair had a silent conversation, but the verdanet had no interest in trying to decipher the intent-ridden looks and subtle gestures.

 

Zet’s hostility drained, giving in to the obvious attempt at pandering. “You mean Crane?” He ignored the way the guards grimaced. “Alright, alright, already…” Deep breath, and another, and then a third; he opened his eyes –when did they close?– and stared at them expectantly, shoulders and arms deliberately loose, and back straightened. “Let’s go, then.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**~*~|A Penny for Your Thoughts|~*~**

 

“You seem almost… happy? What happened?”

 

Jonathan hummed quietly, turning the page before looking up at one of the few people who still tried to start conversations with him outside of the interview rooms. He briefly debated returning to his book, but decided that ignoring him would be more effort than answering the self-proclaimed genius’ questions. “Simple, Mister Nigma, I’m just entertaining some… intriguing thoughts.”

 

The other brunet sat down opposite him, one hand supporting his chin and one eyebrow arched. “Oh? Do tell. I usually find the things you come up with to be… somewhat entertaining, at least.”

 

With a quiet sigh and a shrug that only moved one shoulder –the other still restricted, still healing– the doctor closed the novel and allowed his gaze to lock onto his impromptu companion. Anything less than his full attention would just get… ‘problematic’, and he had no intention of dealing with the beginnings of an attention-starved puzzle-lover. “You remember the talk of a new face here.” It wasn’t a question, but the deceptively-mousy man nodded regardless. “I’m merely looking forward to speaking with him, again… He’s… an unusual one.” He chuckled.

 

“How so?” Edward’s voice was mildly-interested, carefully so… and the Scarecrow couldn’t resist giving him a crooked grin.

 

“ _Nothing much, just that he’s not scared yet~_.” Giddily, he watched as Edward twitched, then he had to go and ruin it by composing himself again just a moment later. Such a pity, really… so, naturally, he had to tell him just a little more –just to see what the Riddler would do next– coupled with a gleeful giggle. “ _I even let him have a little taste –just an eensy-weensy one, couldn’t do much more with them watching like that– though I didn’t get to see what it did_ … _I think I’ll go a bit further, next time, see what he’s got in that cattish little head of his_.”

 

Heaving an overdramatic sigh, Edward shook his head. “No, no, no, that’s not what I meant. You say he’s ‘unusual’, but it can’t be all; surely you’ve got something more substantial than that.” Pausing, he stared at the bony man for a moment. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘cattish’?”

 

“ _I mean that he_ seems to be rather cat-like; it’s likely to not be that dissimilar to Miss Kyle, I suppose.” Jonathan waved his hand dismissively, paying no heed to the way that Edward’s body relaxed just a little. “I’m sure you’ll understand well enough, when you meet him. I don’t know how he is with riddles, though –I didn’t manage to get to that part.”

 

“It almost sounds as if you’re trying to do my work for me. And you didn’t answer my question.” Edward said, adding a touch of a whine, followed by a tightly-controlled deadpan, for effect.

 

Doctor Crane smirked. “Not at all. Tell me, are you going to put his mind through its paces?”

 

“Well, I guess I’m going to have to, now!” was the reply, coupled with a deep scowl.

 

Exactly as expected… In so many ways, the Riddler was almost as predictable as Gotham’s weather –cloudy, with a high likelihood of some form of rainfall on at least three days out of every week– which in turn made it so easy to prod him in the right direction, without quite seeming to. Jonathan’s smirk transformed into a smile. “I think you’ll appreciate his guts, if nothing else.”

 

He eyed the ex-psychiatrist’s smile as it grew –sharing a joke that Edward wasn’t yet privy to. “Riddle me this, Jon. I am loved and loathed in equal measure… but if you share me, I will no longer exist. What am I?”

 

“Are you trying to suggest that I should ‘spill the beans’, Mister Nigma?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

Jonathan laughed, a low and scratchy sound that made a shiver run through Edward’s body. “Then think about it this way… _A wise old owl lived in an oak, the more he saw, the less he spoke, the less he spoke, the more he heard, why can’t we all be like that wise old bird~_ …”

 

**~*~|A Small Drop in the Ocean|~*~**

 

The lounge was much fuller than Zet had initially realised before passing through the doors, doors that he was trying not to think of how it felt so much like the jaws of a gigantic beast sliding closed behind him, and he found his usually-so-confident loping stride faltering. It seemed like a veritable sea of orange-clad bodies – _look again, you fool_ – and none of them looked the slightest bit familiar. The two guards, now behind him, offered somewhat stilted farewells and left the room.

 

That’s when he noticed the myriad of curious gazes fixed on him.

 

_They see your weaknesses, every single one. This is a tank full of sharks, just waiting for the smallest drop of glorious red… or is silver the better colour, here?_

 

He squared his shoulders, determined to keep the bubbling cocktail of confusion and nervousness held tightly under his skin, and scanned the crowd for the one familiar face he could; never mind that brown hair and blue eyes –so, so blue… he didn’t even know human eyes could be that colour… focus Zet!– wasn’t that unique. Luckily, sight wasn’t the only sense he could call upon.

 

A tight coil of cold tension, prickly like a blackberry bush, with just a touch of gleeful mania… Now that he actually thought of it, Crane was probably even weirder than he’d initially guessed. The green-haired youth didn’t bother stopping the toothy grin that spread across his face, widening further when his eyes zeroed in on the man he was looking for –apparently with similarly-coloured company, who instantly reminded Zet of a mirrored and quickly-ticking clock on a computer screen, and how did that analogy work anyways?– nor did he waste any time making his way over to the pair with a spring in his step.

 

And the curious glances seemed to intensify, for some reason…

 

_Why wouldn’t they? You’re a strange thing, a beast that shies away from truly biting anything._

 

As he reached them, the man he didn’t know looked up, slight irritation pulling his features into a frown before they smoothed out in mild surprise, which only grew when Zet plonked himself down next to Crane. “Heya,” he offered, practically chirping it out.

 

It took all of a few seconds for the man he’d temporarily dubbed ‘Clock’ to shake himself back to apparent normalcy, although Crane seemed to be stuck in a staring rut with his eyes fixed on the verdanet. “Greetings, and welcome to our humble abode.” A hand was held out –what was he supposed to do with that, again? Oh yeah!– which he grasped not-too-tightly and shook after a moment’s pause. “I suppose you haven’t the foggiest clue as to who most of us are, do you?”

 

“Nope. First time in the area, and… my… family doesn’t care much for news…” Zet nearly hit himself –that was even worse than the previous ones!– but managed to keep from fulfilling that urge when a too-heavy sigh gushed from Clock’s mouth. “I take it a lot of you guys are pretty famous?”

 

Beside him, Crane finally stopped staring and let out a quiet snort. “Don’t get him started.”

 

“Enough skirting the real subject here, Jon.” Sending a playful glare at the doctor, Clock gestured to his own chest. “I…” he paused for about half a second, “am Edward Nigma. The one –and only– Riddler!”

 

“Another cool nickname, huh?” Zet felt another broad grin split his face in two. “At least I’ve got something I can call ya, other than Clock, although Eggnog also comes to mind…” Too late, Zet realised that he’d let his mouth act before he thought about it.

 

_So typical… you never did learn when to keep that mouth of yours shut. And you never will._

 

Edward blinked slowly, a blatantly perplexed look plastered onto his face. “…What?”

 

“Did I forget to tell you?” Crane interjected before Zet could. “He called the warden ‘fruit bowl’…” Another pause, coupled with a long thin finger tapping his chin lazily, seemingly impervious to the mildly-incredulous expression –something he previously thought was impossible– now dominating Edward’s face. “Hm, come to think of it, where do these come from?”

 

_What will you tell them? Will you tell them of the way your brain works, like an unintelligible mass of half-stripped wires, sparking wildly with every random thought it can possibly produce?_

 

“Uhm… well…” He shifted uneasily in his seat. “A quince is a fruit, and his name’s Sharp, so cut up fruit. Plus he’s kinda bald on top.” He glanced quickly from one brunet to the other. “As for ‘Clock’, that’s just part of what came to mind when I saw you, though ‘Eggnog’ is more a play on ‘Ed Nig’, than anything else…” Zet’s voice had dwindled to a mere murmur by the end, Edward’s on-again-off-again stare feeding his fidgeting.

 

“I don’t really know whether to be astounded or insulted…” the Riddler intoned flatly. “…I think I’ll give you some modicum of leeway, just this once, mister…?” Trailing off with a lilt, he waited for the golden-eyed youth to address the elephant in the room, even going so far as to wave his hand in a very recognisable circular motion.

 

“Uh, that’s great. Yeah, I’ll try to stick with your actual name –uh, names– instead.”

 

Again, Crane cut in, amusement and admonishment mixed together teasingly. “What about your usual faire includes taking offence at a mere, harmless, nickname? Oh, and his name is Zet.”

 

His head snapped around to pin the thin brunet with a narrowing golden glare. “I can introduce myself, y’know!”

 

_Then why did you take so long? Your mind is somehow moving only a little bit faster than a tortoise._

 

“I happen to know of some tortoises that can move big distances fairly quickly, thank you.” Zet spat, only to blink rapidly as realisation struck. “…I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

 

**~*~|Three Strikes|~*~**

 

There it was, practically a proud declaration that there was something ‘different’ about the boy’s brain. If he were the sort, Jonathan would have pointed with the same flair that Mister Nigma was so famous for and let out a bark of triumphant laughter. Instead, a sly smirk slid into place. “You did. Perhaps the warden was onto something, when he demanded you remain.”

 

“I’m not crazy,” he growled, animal-like eyes nearly smouldering at him, daring him to suggest otherwise. Jonathan very nearly did.

 

Edward, ever eager to stoke his own ego, let out a mirthful sound completely unlike the cackle at the back of the doctor’s mind. “Not everyone here is, but that’s not to say that everyone shares the same level of clarity on our states of mind. Take myself, for example; I’m far from insane, yet they keep insisting on trying to lock me away in here…” He trailed off with another theatrical sigh, shaking his head ruefully. “Although, I can’t yet vouch for your own level of sanity –not everyone can sit next to Jon so readily.”

 

Ire forgotten as quickly as it came, Zet’s attention returned to the Riddler, huffing. “Yeah, yeah, don’t know me well enough and all that shit… Wait, why’s that a big deal? You were here before I was.”

 

It was only then –golden eyes wide with curiosity, staring directly at his face– that Jonathan realised the boy’s pupils were slitted. He really should have noticed much sooner, although he was amused to find another thing that the boy and ‘Killer Croc’ shared. “I have something of a reputation, you could say. Nothing more,” he said, offering another of his carefully-pleasant smiles and ignoring Mister Nigma’s raised eyebrow. “I suppose Edward is just not as cautious of me.”

 

“Hah! Caution has nothing to do with it. I simply prefer a more learned conversation partner, and you are part of that terribly-small roster.”

 

He didn’t try to hide his dry sarcasm. “I’m honoured.” Once again, the boy turned his attention from him to inspect the Riddler, allowing Jonathan to study him at his leisure. Idly, he wondered what part of the asylum the newcomer would be locked away for the night. Would they put him in his own room, or bunking with one of the more ‘agreeable’ inmates? On his own would be the safer bet, but something told him that the boy would be… less than happy about that. “By the way, Zet, how do you feel about spending the night alone?”

 

He might have enjoyed Mister Nigma’s squawk of ‘what kind of question is that, Jon’ a little too much, but it was the perfect stillness that clutched at the newcomer’s body that intrigued him. “…You say what, now?” Either a fear of solitude, or of company when others were asleep… interesting.

 

“Curiosity, is all. You see, I may be able to help the staff put you somewhere you’re more comfortable…” It was an empty offer –Arkham staff seemed to delight in ignoring much of what he said, any and all suggestions he made being scrutinised with a fine-toothed comb– but the youngster didn’t know that, nor did he need to. Not yet, anyway.

 

“Are you sure that your name is Crane, Jon? I could have sworn you’re starting to act more like the proverbial cat.” Edward asked, before turning to the boy. “Now then, where were we?”

 

Zet physically shook himself out of his stillness, managing to school his body into appearing almost relaxed. Jonathan was actually rather impressed. “Uhm, I think you were about to talk about something…” he said, although it sounded more like he was asking it instead. “As for your question, Crane, I don’t like being bored and I don’t really sleep, so… you can figure out the rest, right?”

 

Once again, Mister Nigma seemed torn between feeling insulted or not. “‘Something’? Is that the best your mind can concoct?”

 

“Well, so-rry if I got a bit distracted!” the boy hissed back, topping it off by sticking out his tongue.

 

Visibly bristling – _who’s acting like a cat, now, Eddie?_ – Mister Nigma planted both palms on the table and stood in a single move. “Third time is a charm, as they say. My part in this conversation is over; I’d consider bidding you a good day, but your attitude has yet to garner such well-wishing on my part.” Then, with the barest of nods in the doctor’s direction, he spun on his heel and stalked away.

 

“What’d I do, this time…?” Zet groaned, letting his forehead thud loudly against the tabletop.

 

Jonathan smiled. “Edward’s just rather highly-strung. It’s probably better that he takes the time to cool his head before doing anything else with you, all things considered.” he soothed. The fact that he was neglecting to mention that his own interest in the youngster was probably playing some part in the fact that the Riddler had left rather than lashed out… well, that was beside the point.

 

This time, the groan was strangely piteous. “Right, I’ll try to remember that. Eggnog’s got an ego bubble…” The boy’s body slumped, crumpling in on itself in what was really quite an astonishing display. “I don’t have much luck not poking that kind of thing.”

 

“ _Do you have much luck ‘not poking’ anything?_ ” the Scarecrow teased with a crooked smirk. Zet’s eyes –catlike, so much like the rest of him– darted up to meet his for a moment; flickers of suspicion were hidden deep in his gaze, yet vanished when he sighed. That was certainly an unexpected reaction… “Might I suggest you try learning a degree of restraint, then?”

 

Air hissed harshly through the boy’s teeth in another sigh. “Yeah, yeah, only heard that about twenty million times before…”

 

Jonathan shifted in his seat, angling his body to face Zet while also leaning heavily against the table, all so that he could more obviously give his attention to the newcomer; his effort didn’t go unrewarded, as the verdanet perked up like he was a mere child. “Edward had a point, earlier, however… So tell me, Zet, is there a reason you’ve singled me out for companionship?”

 

**~*~|Bait|~*~**

 

It really was a good question, now that Zet considered it. Normally, he tried to stay away from those who stared unblinkingly –at times– or seemed clad in an armour of ice –most kinds of armour, really, it was just that ice was really annoying to deal with and he hated frostbite– or even those who bore almost any kind of mania –it always bit him, right when he expected it the least– yet Crane was each of these… and he still latched on to the man like a lost puppy. The comparison brought an abortive growl to his chest.

 

_He wants an answer, you know. Staring at the table will do nothing for you… in fact, it’s pathetic. Raise your head, meet his gaze with your own, do not show your weaknesses. Never show your weaknesses._

 

“Well, I, uh… familiar face?” There was something wrong with this place, and the way he was dealing with it, Zet decided. He clamped down on the re-emerging desire to slam his head against a solid and preferably immovable surface, satisfying some of the nervous tension by latching his teeth onto his scarf and chewing –there had to be hundreds of fang-inflicted holes in the fabric by now, it really was a wonder that it still looked as intact as it did. “Plus,” he added, exaggerating his words to ensure Crane could understand them, “I kinda want to know stuff about this place, and no-one who’s wearing white is gonna be trustworthy.”

 

It was a terrible line of reasoning, sounding even worse when he put it into words like that, but no-one had ever said that Zet thought everything through. The blue-eyed man regarded him evenly, his expression giving nothing away… not even the tiny upward pull on his lips seemed to say anything.

 

As such, naturally, he had to.

 

“Did you know that Balloons have no real idea what they’re saying?”

 

Okay, perhaps that wasn’t the best topic, although who could really blame him for blurting out the first thing he thought of? And it was quite funny seeing Crane blink and stare at him as if he’d suddenly grown a third arm… Zet got the impression that the man rarely showed such expressions, so he considered it a small victory over utter boring normalcy.

 

_You mean a victory over sense, don’t you?_

 

“Shut up, I’m ignoring you…” he hissed under his breath, hoping that Crane didn’t catch it, muffled as it was by the orange accessory. Despite his earlier slip up, he still wanted to pretend that his thoughts were unbridled by any other, no matter what the depths of his own mind may say.

 

At long last –it was probably only a minute, at most– the brunet let out another of his low hums. “No, I didn’t know that… however, I find myself feeling rather helpful in regards to you. I’ll answer your questions, Zet, don’t worry.” He smiled, almost warmly –or was that a trick of the light?– and propped his head up on the knuckles of one hand, bony elbow anchored on top of his book. “It’s really very unfortunate, you being kept here without truly understanding where you are… However, I think it’s best for you to learn a bit more on your own, before I fill in whatever blanks remain.”

 

“Fine…” Zet groused, a quiet growl he wasn’t quite sure he actually meant burbling in his throat. “…Hey, there is one thing you should be able t’tell me, without going against that. What kind of doctor are you?”

 

Crane smiled again, and this time it was satisfied… almost smug. “A doctor of the mind.”

 

**~*~|The Master’s Mind|~*~**

 

Stalking over to the opposite corner of the room did little to soothe the Riddler’s ire, but it was likely better than the alternative. In fact, moving away had been approximately fifty-seventh on his list of wants for the situation… as well as sitting proudly at the very top of his current list of how to not wind up with the self-styled ‘Master of Fear’ aiming to make his life in this godforsaken asylum into such a creatively-ghastly living hell for the foreseeable future –and then some, because anyone who actually knew Jon knew that the man didn’t play the revenge game by halves, or anything less than about three or four halves– that logic dictated that he simply had to do it.

 

Even if he really, really, really didn’t want to.

 

Edward certainly understood the enticing value of an unknown entity, in the right circumstances, it was the spontaneity that struck him as odd, however. Although there was the tiniest sliver of a chance that his own thoughts and feelings on things might have coloured his interpretation…

 

…Slightly.

 

No-one had dared draw his attention, despite the fact that –if it weren’t for his nefarious reputation– his generally harmless appearance would have acted as a form of siren’s symphony, drawing all manner of brutes and would-be masterminds to express their presumed superiority over him. The hilarity and offensiveness were practically equal in that.

 

He claimed a seat by one of the windows of the lounge –conveniently ignoring the wary looks worn by the guards situated in oh-so-obvious-yet-‘discreet’ places around the large room– and set about the true task at hand.

 

Normally, Edward was a patient –for a few minutes at most, typically– and understanding –when agreed with– individual. He only bit back when he’d already been attacked, according to his own particular set of definitions, and he bit back hard. For the boy’s slights –proportionately-insignificant when compared to those of the Dark Knight who haunted Gotham’s night-time rooftops though they were– he’d first need to learn more about what he did and didn’t comprehend.

 

Although it did somewhat seem like he could challenge the Arkham newcomer to a form of local trivia puzzle and win without any effort, Edward felt it would be better for him to have tried –maybe even succeeding at solving one or two conundrums– as it would make the brunet’s own victory all the sweeter.

 

Oh, and let’s not forget that the Scarecrow would probably arrange a chemically-complex catastrophe for him to enjoy, should he ‘break the fearmonger’s new toy too soon’. So a balancing act, then. Not exactly his forte, but far from outside of his range of skills…

 

Now, if only he could keep his temper in the meantime, or –better yet– if only the boy could learn some manners.

 

**~*~|Decisions, Decisions|~*~**

 

Warden Sharp let out a heavy gust of air as he laid the fresh folder down on the table and sat down. The team of psychiatrists who worked with the residents of Arkham Asylum had already filled the seats, and the majority of them met his bespectacled gaze with expressions of curiosity. Normally, Quincy would leave this part of the process to those who’d specifically studied the matter, but then… this was not a normal situation.

 

“You’ve each already heard of our surprise guest, no doubt,” he began, complete with his natural pomposity. “The primary reason I called this meeting is to determine who is to take his case.”

 

“What do we know about him?” asked one of the older psychiatrists in his employ, Doctor Gretchen Whistler. “It is best to try to put patients with someone who can work well with them.” Sharp considered the severe-looking woman for a moment; her levelheadedness was a force to be reckoned with, to be certain, so she might be suitable…

 

However, he had a question to answer. “All we really know is that he uses a single –nonsensical– word as his name, and various physical traits.” Sharp flipped open the folder and spread the loose sheets around the table.

 

He wasn’t too surprised when it was Doctor Penelope Young who gathered up the paper to peruse all of them. The ambitious woman always sought new ways to expand on her career. “With that appearance and regeneration capability, he’s probably some kind of metahuman, like Ivy and Croc.” A frown cut into her forehead. “Possible schizophrenia?”

 

“Evidently, he –as he, himself, puts it– thinks aloud,” the warden replied with a shrug. “Personally, I don’t particularly buy that excuse.”

 

“Perhaps, given your current workload, Doctor Young, you should allow someone else to read over that?” interjected a deep and steady voice with a note of amusement. Doctor Young flashed a cutting look at the bespectacled Doctor Hugo Strange. “I am not suggesting that you cannot handle him, merely that one person can only take on so many cases at once,” he said, his tone now carefully-soothing.

 

“No, no, I’m more than happy to take his case on.” Penelope insisted, waving a hand dismissively. “I assure you, of course, that if this ‘Zet’ person proves to be too much… I’ll be keeping very clear notes for whomever takes over.”

 

Strange smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

 

“Shouldn’t we be concentrating more on learning his condition than on one-upping each other?” Gretchen pointed out tersely.

 

“Yes, yes, of course.” Sharp nodded, now slipping into his more businesslike attitude. “For now, at least, Doctor Young shall take the boy’s case, and we shall see how events pan out. Understood?” When no complaints reared their ugly heads, he allowed himself a satisfied grunt, glad to have the matter settled for the foreseeable future. Of course, that brought him to the next port of call… “You’re to arrange his initial interview as promptly as possible, understood?”

 

She nodded, wearing a smile that seemed a trifle hungry –Quincy ignored it, the young doctor was surely just eager to get to work. “If I may be excused, I’ll arrange it now?”

 

“Oh, of course, go right ahead.” One less thing for him to worry about. He gave a quick downward jerk of his head as she stood and left the room, then turned his attention back to the others. “Now then, were there any thoughts or concerns you wish to share?”

 

The red-haired Doctor Sarah Cassidy straightened a little in her chair. “Yes, I have one… Why was this boy admitted so quickly? Is he a new ‘rogue’ that I hadn’t heard of, before?”

 

One of Sharp’s hands rose to physically wave her concerns away. “There was a great deal of suspicion regarding the boy’s mental state, even from his arrival, and he’s yet to be particularly cooperative in divulging any details about himself that we can’t surmise for ourselves… To be brutally honest, if he isn’t already on that oh-so-‘esteemed’ list, then it wouldn’t have taken him very long to garner a spot.”

 

Doctor Cassidy grimaced, but let the subject lie as it was. “I suppose that’s all from me, then…”

 

“The worst that could happen is that we find he’s completely mentally-sound, and have to release him from our care…” Doctor Strange said, threading the fingers of one hand through his immaculately-kept beard. “I don’t really consider that to be such a bad thing, do you? Given the circumstances that we Gothamites are so well acquainted with?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**~*~|For Want of an Apple|~*~**

 

Zet had no idea what to expect when the same guards who led him out of the medical centre seemed to materialise behind him, leaving him little time to properly register the doctor’s stated speciality. Nonplussed, Crane glanced up at the pair with a small smirk. “Well, it appears the rest of our conversation will have to wait; try to get your questions in order for the next time we meet, Zet. Now then, which of us are you here for?” the brunet asked, an almost playful lilt in his tone.

 

“We’re here for the kid. Seems the doctors like to work fast today… he’s got an appointment with Doctor Young, in ten minutes.” Pastamop –the nice one, so dubbed because Zet had no intention of using bland descriptors for them anymore, his sour buddy getting nicknamed Bananabrain, and maybe he was just a little bit hungry– replied, shrugging and paying no mind to the way the youth definitely did not rake his fingers through his hair and let out a petulant whine.

 

Because he totally didn’t do that… and he really needed to stop letting his brain take him into what was effectively another plane of existence; his imagination was psychedelic enough without the help, after all.

 

_Good luck with that… You’ll need it._

 

“Doctor Young, hm? That could be… an ‘adventure’ for you.” Crane’s voice was quiet, as if he wanted to keep the comment from the men in charcoal-grey uniforms –who were still ‘patiently’ waiting for Zet to stand. “She’s a fool, and I’ve only heard snippets.”

 

_All the better, maybe you can make a new ‘friend’?_

 

To show the blue-eyed doctor he’d heard the warning, Zet gave a small nod –the guards undoubtedly thought it was for them, if they noticed at all. “Fine, fine.” This time, he didn’t feel the need to stand carefully and sprung to his feet in a quick and fluid motion, taking a moment to stretch his arms above his head before looking at his apparent guides expectantly. “Let’s go, then.”

 

_Show them why you follow no-one’s orders… Show them the dangers they’re inviting, the vibrant paint that pulses through their fragile sacks of skin…_

 

He didn’t manage to stop the sharp intake of breath or the reflexive clamping down of teeth on his scarf. The cold shudder that wracked his frame surely didn’t go unnoticed, either –Crane’s eyes were like icy spears between his shoulder blades, he could feel it!– and Pastamop even sent him a concerned look. “M’good!” Zet only hoped they bought it.

 

Bananabrain scoffed quietly but didn’t challenge his declaration, taking the lead out of the room once again. Zet fell into step easily, jerkily at first and then smoothing out halfway to the door. The trip was silent –would it kill them to chat with him, to ease the tension?– leaving him with little to do other than stare in various directions, trusting his other senses to keep him moving where the pair directed. Two minutes into the trip, and he’d reached an ironclad decision… this place was boring as the bleak icy wilderness he lived in, the only source of interest being the beings who were unlucky enough to be there.

 

It almost made him want to scream, just to make something else happen… That idea was scrapped as soon as he had it, however, torn from his mind by a shrill echoing sound that he knew painfully well; someone was shrieking in… no, that wasn’t pain. Pain sounded different. Zet shook his head, shoving his thoughts in another direction.

 

“You know, this place could do with some paint… like green, or blue, or yellow –something more cheery than grey or white. Makes the place feel cold,” he blurted out, then scowled. “Yeah, definitely something other than white. Did you know it’s possible to develop an allergic reaction to a certain colour?” It probably wasn’t, but Zet didn’t really care… it was his excuse, and he was sticking with it. He pulled an innocent smile onto his face when he noticed Bananabrain glance back at him, widening it at the muffled laughter coming from Pastamop. “Maybe even get everyone together –who cares if people wear the paint too, that’d be half the fun– and redecorate the whole place?”

 

“Top brass’d never allow it, hate to break it to ya.” Pastamop said, slightly breathless. “Though, you do have a point about it feeling kinda cold.”

 

Zet’s smile turned into a grin as he turned around, deliberately still walking in synch with his escorts… just backwards. “I know! Pity about the ‘top brass’… Bet they’re the sort who can’t have fun unless they’re… what do ‘top brass’ of a place like this even do?” He couldn’t really imagine Fruit Bowl having fun, ever.

 

“For fun? No idea… I know what I like doing, but that’s about it.” The reply came with a shrug and a wry-looking half-smile. “You seem a bit out of touch with places like this, don’t ya, kiddo?”

 

He really should tell them that he’s not a child, despite the disbelief he was bound to get in return. Although, he had to admit… the rather lacklustre nickname Pastamop had saddled him with felt kinda nice. “All I know is that it’s an ‘asylum’, which I thought was a word that meant ‘safe haven’, or something like that. You don’t really lock a person in a safe haven, though, so… maybe I’m just missing something.”

 

“You’re missing something.” Bananabrain’s voice was flat –seriously, what was that guy’s problem?– which earned him a stuck-out tongue. “We’re almost there, so quit your yapping for a bit; you’ll wanna save your voice for the doc’, now.”

 

“Gee, that doesn’t sound half ominous…” Zet grumbled, spinning around to face the sour guard’s back again.

 

Ignoring him –how dare he?!– Bananabrain pulled out a card and waved it in front of the lock panel Zet only noticed thanks to watching the movement. It beeped a couple of times, the slowly-flashing red light above it turned green, and the door the trio had stopped at let out a loud thunk. Turning the handle with one hand and grabbing Zet’s shoulder with the other, he pulled the verdanet into the room.

 

It was small and bland, with two doors at opposite corners, and a large shiny blackened window –there was no way it wasn’t a window, his ‘uncle’ had played with the idea of unseen observation once, long ago– stretching across the majority of one wall. There was a table with metal loops built into strange places –only half of the table seemed to have them, but why?– in the centre, with two chairs on opposite sides of it; Pastamop gestured to the one closer to the weird half of the table, and to the door they’d come through.

 

Zet sat down as directed, shrugging. No point making a scene yet, after all… The two guards stood by the two doors, obviously waiting for something. Probably the doctor. He suppressed the shudder that wanted to rage through his body; she had better not come in wearing white, for the sake of his nerves. The mirrored surface to the side called to his curiosity, but he tried to stop himself from looking at it just yet, occupying himself by tap-tap-tapping his fingers on the tabletop and humming along to the tune his mind scrambled to put together. By the door that led who-knew-where, Bananabrain sent him a weak glare –he ignored it, he was used to glares, and bananas don’t glare as potently as anyone in his family.

 

“Bananas don’t even have eyes.” Zet muttered to himself with a grin, snickering at the image that popped into his head.

 

He was interrupted from going any further by the Mysterious Door of Terrible Doom – _stop naming everything_ – opening to reveal a woman in white, and Zet swallowed the groan that had built up. Her brown hair was tied back neatly, with several shorter locks hanging over her forehead. Blue eyes –Zet decided suddenly that he much preferred the icy stare of Crane, and the electric gaze of Eggnog– studied him, scouring his body from head to toe in a single sweep before settling back on his face. She smiled – _faker_ – as she sat in the other chair and placed a yellow folder down on the table, in front of her.

 

“Hello, I’m Doctor Penelope Young. I’ll be working with you from now on.”

 

**~*~|The Doctor Came Calling|~*~**

 

Penelope waited in the observation room for her first true sight of her new patient, the notes from the medical staff who treated his injuries held firmly in her hands. She’d read through them multiple times already, and still wasn’t quite sure she could believe them… A gaping hole leaking silver-coloured blood, his torso torn open and his organs exposed, ribs sliced and snapped… yet, he lived, was even awake for much of their treatment. If he wasn’t a metahuman, then the doctor frankly had no idea what he was.

 

Apparently, the young enigma had even removed all of the bandages they’d tried to wrap around his body, the report stating that he’d insisted that they’d simply get in the way. Maybe he was right, as his body had rapidly replaced the destroyed tissue.

 

The patient’s door opened, then, and she finally got to see him.

 

She opened up the notepad she’d brought and started to list down her observations. Green hair –possibly from dyes, although that would become clear to everyone soon enough– and a grey-tinted but lightly-tanned complexion, golden catlike eyes that seemed to linger a little too long in her direction through the two-way mirror and carried shadows underneath them, as if he rarely slept. He was lean and somewhere around five and a half feet tall, or perhaps a bit taller, and moved like he hadn’t a care in the world. Upon being directed to sit, he did so without any fuss, and Penelope was glad to note that he hadn’t been restrained yet. With any luck, that would remain unnecessary.

 

Her pen scratched to a halt. There was no use in keeping him waiting for too long, and so she gathered his file together and left for the doctor’s entrance.

 

**~*~|Foot-in-Mouth Disease|~*~**

 

As she’d started with an attempt at a normal enough greeting, he resolved to do the same, even with the nervous energy that was beginning to build. “Yo, the name’s Zet,” he said, offering a half-hearted wave. With the greetings over, he crossed his arms on the tabletop and let his chin rest on them, looking up at her from the hunched position.

 

_Ah, lulling her into a false sense of security, are you? Human women are so sensitive, so easy to spook… From there, you probably look so harmless, don’t you? So… weak…_

 

The doctor nodded. “Is that your full name?”

 

Strike one and a half against the doc’. Zet grimaced –there he was, trying to keep from losing his temper, yet she had to go and make the same mistake that almost everyone else here had done. “Yup. Guess my family’s just weird like that…” he replied through gritted teeth. “To me, you lot are the ones with the crazy names, needing two or more names to make sure everyone knows it’s you and not someone who’s got the same name… Can’t your looks take care of that?”

 

Doctor Young had a notepad out and open, pen at the ready. “Unfortunately, no. There would be too many legal concerns, if that came up.” Zet did nothing other than send her a confused look. “But, that’s not really the point here; what is the point, is you. I’d like to get to know you better. Do you think you could help me with that?”

 

“Sure, I’m game.”

 

“Great!” This time, her smile was actually a teensy bit genuine. “What do you like to do for fun, Mister Zet?”

 

He wouldn’t count that as another half-strike against her… not when it seemed to be so prevalent in the mentality of the place. “No ‘mister’, that just sounds ridiculous.” That didn’t mean he wouldn’t expect her to continue using it, regardless of his wishes. “For fun, huh…?”

 

_Hands through stomachs, twisted necks, snapped limbs…_

 

That wasn’t his idea of fun. Zet nearly growled, pushing back the mental images that came with that train of thought. “I like… climbing, exploring places, playing games… Y’know, normal stuff.” He didn’t mention the thrill that stirred in his blood when in the midst of a good spar, or the euphoria that came with cutting through the air at high speeds, or the joy he felt when telling a good story to someone who actually listened to him for once…

 

“That does sound rather normal. You like being outdoors a lot?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

 

“You bet! Especially getting as far away from home as possible.” Zet grinned. No need to mention how that usually ended with his body at someone else’s mercy, she didn’t need to know that. “Only so much to see around there, compared to everywhere else.”

 

Doctor Young pursed her lips, her brow furrowing. “I take it that you don’t get along with your family, then.”

 

He snorted. “Understatement of the century, doc’…” Zet would think of an actual nickname for her later; he was still trying not to look at her for too long, still trying to keep from analysing her presence. “They’re strict, and I don’t do well with strictness.” It was close enough, anyway.

 

_Show her a taste of what they’ve done…_

 

“Not now…” he mumbled into his arm. Probably, ‘not ever’ would be the better response, but he couldn’t give that guarantee, not even to himself. The chill spread from the top of his spine, right where it met his skull, slowly moving down to the rest of his body. “Not. Now.” Zet repeated, louder this time and paired with sinking his upper fangs into his forearm. Warm silvery blood started to seep from the punctures, driving away the cold and prompting a quick release of the injured flesh. Only when he was done wiping his mouth on the less-orange-now sleeve did he dare glance back up at the others in the room.

 

The doctor was the first to make a move, leaning forward slightly with an intrigued expression. “Why did you do that, Zet?”

 

“…Itchy. Put too much force into it.” He really needed to work on his lies… they kept sounding more and more pathetic each time. “But, back on topic. I bet you wanna hear more about something, right? Let’s get this shit out of the way, ‘kay?”

 

Now, the brunette doctor leaned back in her seat, bringing her pen up to her face and resting the end she wasn’t writing with lightly against her chin. He almost wanted to pluck it out of her hand and throw it into the wall –whether it buried itself or broke, although being buried would be funnier. “Alright. So, what about friends? Someone as gregarious as you surely has a lot of them.”

 

_You know what happens when you try to. You know what they do, you know what is done to them… you know, and you’re scared._

 

“Eh, not especially. Regular acquaintances, more like.” Shoulders twitching in a bizarre would-be shrug, Zet finally turned his head to inspect the window, scanning it for any sign of watchers on the other side. “We meet, have a conversation or three, then we go our separate ways for a while until we get to rinse and repeat.”

 

“That sounds rather lonely.” Doctor Young stated, a note of sympathy warming her voice slightly. “Do you prefer it that way?”

 

He growled, ire gripping him and holding him tight; he wasn’t even sure where the surge came from, but if she continued to push where he reacted the most… well, she’d undoubtedly wind up regretting it. Why was she insisting on digging into that topic, anyway? “Not really, but I just don’t have friends.”

 

“Is it something to do with your family?” she pressed, and he noticed that the pen was moving at the same time that her eyes were trying to bore into his skull. The thought made him snarl.

 

“You could say that.” Zet replied, shifting the arch of his back to pull his chair closer to the table. “They don’t like ‘friends’.”

 

_Make her hurt… Make her regret her questions now, before she believes she can get away with it, make her--_

 

“Shut. Up!” he snapped, another growl lacing through his words and continuing after they stopped. Secrecy didn’t matter at that point, and responding was one of the only ways he could ‘calm the beast’. Zet’s hands rose to thread his fingers through his hair, gripping them loosely when sufficiently entwined, the pricks of minute discomfort helping to distract from the re-emerging images of cruel fanged grins, widening in cold glee.

 

Doctor Young observed the whole thing, pen furiously scribbling away. “Who are you talking to, Zet? Can you tell me that?”

 

_See? She wants to know. Let her learn it… let her understand it… let her see you for what you really are…_

 

Desperation made Zet’s throat clench and his body shudder violently. Could anyone really be that eager to know something? And she was supposed to check if he was crazy… If he wasn’t so close to bolting from the room, ‘rules’ be damned, he’d have laughed. “No… no, I can’t tell ya. Or I won’t.” Wincing at how weak he sounded, he forced himself to swallow before trying to speak again –resolutely ignoring the chill that was digging its claws into his nerves. “Next question? Or is that all?”

 

“No, that’s not all,” the doctor answered, sounding only vaguely interested. She fell quiet for a bit, apparently compiling her next queries until, at long last, she spoke again. “How did you come to Arkham Island?”

 

It was a harmless enough question… he could answer that. “Fell out of the sky, if you wanna believe that.” He knew she wouldn’t. “I nearly swallowed half the fucking ocean on the way to shore –impact with some of the rocks had me a bit dazed, though.” More scribbling of the pen, more could-be-piercing glances, more carefully-restrained impatience making her body tense.

 

“You fell from a plane?”

 

“…Yeah, sure. We’ll go with that.”

 

Now, she huffed; Zet doubted that was very ‘professional’. “Where are your family, now? Maybe we can contact them to check in on you?”

 

With what he’d already told her, the suggestion made his back snap straight, pulling his head up so that he could stare incredulously at her. “You can’t be serious…” At least the chill was receding again, allowing him to think somewhat straight. “They’re up north, or they mostly are at least –no-one tells him where to go, lucky bastard– and no thanks.”

 

“‘Him’?”

 

“One of the only ones I get along with. He’s away from home almost as much as I am –he just gets to stay away without too much of a fuss…” This was better, talking about someone or something other than himself. Normally, that might spark some irritation in him, but now it was almost more welcome than the comfort of familiarity. Speaking of which… the doctor’s eyes had settled on the loops of his scarf, narrowed in puzzlement. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what a scarf is, either…”

 

The brunette’s expression flicked into the realm of irritation for a moment before smoothing out again. “No, I do… It’s just that I wasn’t aware of any loosening of regulations on your uniform.”

 

Not that again… The growling returned with a vengeance and he bared his teeth at her, leaning as far away from her as he could, without tipping the chair. “Well, I suppose you don’t know everything, then, do ya?”

 

She met his glare evenly. “What would you do, if it was taken from you?”

 

“Probably kill whoever did it,” he answered, not bothering to think it through. There were very few people who had any chance of getting away with it, and none of them were anywhere nearby.

 

“Without question? Rather violent of you… why does it mean so much? Was it some kind of present?”

 

Why did she insist on digging…? Was it somewhere in the job description for a ‘mind doctor’, as he assumed she was? Zet moved to stand, only to have Pastamop’s hand press down on one shoulder; he resorted to fast-paced tapping on the tabletop instead of the pacing he’d initially planned for. “Yes, most likely.” It was the only answer he gave.

 

An air of mild frustration started to whirl above Doctor Young’s head, but she kept going regardless. “Would you consider yourself to be human?”

 

It was almost funny, almost enough to make him forget her near-threat and her incessant prodding. However, did that mean he should tell her what it seemed she wanted to hear, or should he do the opposite? Instead of giving a clear answer, he settled on playing a sort of game with her. “What does it look like I am?”

 

“I’m not asking whether you look human, I’m asking whether you believe you are one.”

 

Damn, so she wasn’t going to play. He slumped back down on the table, almost all of his earlier nervous energy rushing out of his system in one fell swoop. “Is that anything to do with whether I’m ‘crazy’ or not?” he deadpanned. At this point, he was starting to think that she wasn’t interested in proving him sane or not, and simply wanted to prove him to be ‘other’… it made his skin crawl for some reason.

 

Not missing a beat, however, she countered with, “I’d have a better run of that if you told me who you wanted to be quiet, earlier.”

 

Zet snorted. “Not happening.”

 

“Very well, then. Tell me more about your family.”

 

“Also not happening.”

 

“Why not?” The scratching of her pen was starting to irritate him, being the only sound other than their voices and the breathing of them and the guards. “Does it hurt?”

 

_Yes, does it hurt to think of them? Does it hurt to speak of them? Does it?_

 

The verdanet refused to rise to the bait this time, and instead kept his body still –aside from the fingers of one hand, which he tapped softly on the tabletop yet again. Besides, one of the things his family had taught him –carved into him, so many years ago– fit very well as an answer. “‘Hurt’ is subjective… If you hurt a lot in one way or in one spot, you can be hurt elsewhere and never feel it, even if it’s a worse injury. That, and how much you can take is different depending on who you are.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear you say that.” She didn’t sound sorry, she sounded rehearsed. “It seems as if you’ve got a good reason to try to separate yourself from your family…” Staring at the window again, Zet didn’t notice her flip open the folder she’d brought. “However, I think that I do know how to help you. It’s clear that you’re made of some pretty sturdy stuff… if needed, there’s probably not a single type of treatment we can provide that you wouldn’t be able to handle.”

 

He scowled at that. “I still say I’m not crazy.” Zet hissed, only to be ignored.

 

“We’ll need to wean you off of your ‘security blanket’ at some point, of course, and do something about your temper. You could hardly be expected to reintegrate into society if you’re willing to contemplate killing someone… though that does point towards some far deeper issue.” Doctor Young continued, clicking her tongue at the end, and paying no attention to the way his body tensed up. She did, however, focus her gaze back onto him, rather than the notes in front of her. “Answer another question for me, Zet… Does a violent mindset run in your family?”

 

She asked as if she thought she knew the truth, regardless of whether she actually did or not. The idea made Zet grit his teeth; ‘running in the family’ was a tricky thing to define with them, anyway, so he stayed silent. Gold glared back at blue, and he could even feel his pupils narrowing.

 

Taking his silence as whatever answer she’d predicted, the brunette doctor nodded. “I hope you realise that, for us to help you in any significant way, you need to be completely honest with me.” Zet wanted to throw that back in her face –he would have, too, if words had any solidity. “Now then, you didn’t tell me why your scarf is so important to you… how about we get back to that?”

 

“How about ‘no’.” Zet snarled at her. His heart was thudding in his chest, every sense on overdrive as his body prepared itself for a fight against his will. He knew there was basically no point trying to fight them at the moment, but that did nothing to stop what was pretty much a trained reaction by then. He snickered inwardly at her frown.

 

“Alright,” she said tersely. “I’d like you to take it off for a moment.”

 

He felt the searing shocks from the guards’ batons before he’d even realised that he’d leapt at her, hands clawing through the air for her throat.

 

**~*~|Cognitive Circles|~*~**

 

Freed from the dedicated company of others, Jonathan had left his chair for a window seat, and returned to the book he’d taken from the small stash in his cell. It was an old favourite of his, one that he’d probably read at least once every couple of years –usually around the end of October. Some would argue that sharing a name with the main character had led him to the short story, but that was far from the top of the list of why he liked it. When he realised that he’d read the same sentence about five times in a row, however, he gave up trying to finish it before lights-out.

 

Why was he, of all people, having difficulty focusing? Typically, he had impeccable focus –it was a necessity when dealing with chemicals– so the apparent lack of it had his brow furrowing and his hands clenching.

 

_Take a good look back, Jonny-boy. We’ve got a new plaything._

 

The tension bled out of him, and the doctor allowed his eyes to close as he leaned back against the glass. It wasn’t every day that the Scarecrow knew an answer that had escaped Jonathan’s notice, and he wasn’t sure if he liked the feeling. Wild cackles sounded from the back of his mind, his alter-ego’s mirth warming his body to a disconcerting degree. _‘Try not to make a fool out of us, would you?’_

 

_Aw, so cold! You know I’d never do that._ Scarecrow snickered, pushing an image at Jonathan’s mental eye which showed a hand made out of sticks and woven straw waving as if to swat a fly. _But back to bus-i-ness~… When do we get to play with him? I wanna hear him scream…_

 

With a small frown, the doctor shook his head. _‘You need to learn some patience. He’ll be here for a while –the warden is convinced he’s mad.’_

 

_Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock…_

 

_‘I don’t have any toxin with me…’_ Jonathan started, only for Scarecrow to continue its sing-song, only significantly louder than before. He almost winced. _‘Fine! I’ll collect it tonight, after we learn where he’s been put. I’m sure that he’ll do his best to tell me, after all…’_

 

_Jonny’s got a new friend~!_

 

_‘No, I don’t. He’s simply fixated on me, most likely because I was the first to leave his pride undamaged.’_

 

Scarecrow let out a rasping hum. _You’re not fooling me, why do you think you couldn’t read about Hessians today?_

 

_‘Oh, shut up, you…’_

 

_Don’t feel like it. I want to dig my fingers into our toy’s brain and pull out what he fears the most. I want to show him why he’s ours, and not the other way around… and I want to do that now. I wanted it when we saw him._

 

He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose for a moment before readjusting his glasses. Sometimes, his alter-ego really was far from reasonable. _‘You’ll get your fun, ‘Crow, don’t worry.’_

 

_Tonight._ The reply was instantaneous, pressuring for the answer it particularly wanted.

 

Jonathan nodded. _‘Tonight.’_

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter that brings the day to a close... It made sense to cut this one short, when it got to that point.
> 
> Also, I apologise ahead of time to anyone who hates rhyming… but I literally could not resist. I am so, totally, completely, not actually sorry.

**~*~|Before the Storm: A Dream of the Beginning|~*~**

 

_It was cold in the control room, enough so to force a shiver out of his body despite the fire still pumping through his veins. For once, Zet had come for a reason other than painstakingly teaching himself how to use the massive machine… he had come to finish things in the only way he knew how, the only way that had any true chance of actually working. Loath as he was to admit it, but she was too strong for him to be entirely confident in simply killing her the old-fashioned way._

_That left him with Plan B._

_Striding over to the control panel itself, the green-haired youth felt his chest clenching uncomfortably. Was it nervousness? He bit into his lower lip and shook his head rapidly as if to outright fling the hesitation from his mind. Everything had gone too far for him to give up, just as he was about to win._

_…He was going to win, if he did this, wasn’t he?_

_Alhazred was going to kill him… Zet was going to die, and it would all be because his ‘uncle’ had an obsession with someone who hated the insane scientist almost as much as that very same madman hated humans._

_His fingers rested lightly on the keys, a small frown falling over his face when he noticed the scuff lines left by Doppelganger extremities –the ridiculous colour-blind creatures had been dancing on the controls… again. Zet closed his eyes, took a deep breath or three, and started to enter the sequence._

_There was no true rhyme or reason behind the characters he typed into the machine; he’d learned a long time ago that, the more he didn’t pay attention to what was inputted, the crazier the resulting transfer. If he felt that a particular symbol would fit next, he pressed the corresponding key without thinking it over. Besides, the stranger the input, the less likely it was that it could be reversed._

_The redhead that had been a source of almost-unending irritation –and definitely, absolutely no jealousy, nope, not at all!– would disappear, never to be seen or heard from again._

_If only Zet had better luck…_

_“What are you doing, Zet?” Deftly-controlled lightning speared through his left side, even as he spun to face the new arrival. The other’s golden mask and glowering scarlet eyes filled his vision. “Are you trying to do something stupid again, or should I say ‘like usual’?”_

 

**~*~|More Valuable Than Gold|~*~**

 

Blackness was always an unpleasant thing to come back to. In fact, Zet hated it quite intensely. Stolen awareness returning at the speed of a thick sludge had never been a good sign, in his experience. His breath echoed eerily, although his quiet groan managed to do a much better job of ricocheting off of the walls –if his head was just a little less sore, he’d laugh at it. Keeping his eyes closed for the moment, Zet started to take stock of the room he was now in.

 

The first thing he noticed was that it was a bit chilly, like it was the depths of a large building, or simply maintained a colder temperature than would be considered ‘comfortable’ by most. The next thing was that he was lying on what felt like some kind of thin mattress, laid out on a hard surface. There wasn’t much extra noise around him –which prompted a shiver all its own– but he could tell that he wasn’t actually alone. In some ways, that made the silence all the more unnerving, but he swallowed down the jolt of near-panic that tried to raise its ugly head.

 

Zet opened his eyes, pushing himself up into a sitting position on the wall-mounted slab that he could only assume was meant to be a bed. Focusing his perception through the walls, he set about trying to see where anyone else was… but when his eyes grew so hot that they felt like they were going to melt out of his head, he flinched and closed them again.

 

“That’s not good…” he murmured, pressing the heels of his palms against his eye sockets. When the sensation had faded enough, he let his hands drop limply to his lap and slit his eyes open once more. “Okay, let’s try that again.” Anyone watching these attempts would have seen his eyes seem to glow like a pair of hot coals; his efforts, however, went unrewarded. The searing pain lanced into his brain for a second time, forcing him to cut it off early yet again, before the sensation became too unbearable. Rubbing at them with a knuckle, the verdanet sighed. “Typical. Different place, wacko people, stupid rules, and my abilities are fucking up!”

 

_You should be more concerned about your other tricks. Tracking temperature is the least of your worries… If you can’t fight the way you usually do, then how will you protect yourself?_

 

“I’ll think of something.” With the ‘cat out of the bag’, Zet could barely see any reason to refrain from responding now, although he did try to keep his voice from getting too loud. “Your comments are far from welcome, y’know, so could ya shut up for longer than… say, five minutes?”

 

_You’re the one who has difficulty staying silent._

 

He snorted at that –unable to really deny it– before returning his attention to the room he was in… or rather, the cell. It was small, featureless, and the only thing he could surmise to be a door was a set of thick horizontal bars. “Oh, fuck…” Air hissed through clenched teeth with all the venom he could infuse into the sound; they’d actually locked him up? She was asking for it, though! Zet had made it perfectly clear that there were some things that he didn’t like to talk about, and she pushed and poked and prodded, until he’d just reacted.

 

The cat-eyed youth sprung to his feet and started to pace the small space, only managing three circuits before the strange panels on the floor beyond the bars caught his attention. They were vaguely greenish, square, and seemed to be suspended just above the actual floor. He shook his head –now wasn’t the time to get curious about their weird flooring choices, but it was a good time to see about getting out of the mess he’d been dumped into.

 

“Let’s see… If one thing’s on the fritz, then…” he paused, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

 

_By the way, you’re missing something._

 

Zet blinked. That was new –usually nothing remotely helpful came from that part of his head– and suspicion tugged his expression into a scowl. “What do you mean, missing?”

 

_Unobservant fool… Perhaps it doesn’t mean as much as you thought it did, then?_

 

Malice dripped from every syllable as the chill in his spine returned, which he tried vainly to dislodge by forcing a violent shudder. That familiar sharp-toothed grin flashed in his mind’s eye, and Zet let out a quiet growl. “You’re not making any--…” He almost choked on his own words as he realised what was meant.

 

_Now you get it… Took you long enough._

 

He ignored the jeer, hands flying up to his neck and chest only to feel nothing until his fingers hit skin and the thick fabric of the uniform. “Those… bastards…” His scarf was gone, stolen away while he was undoubtedly still twitching from the sparking batons’ strikes, leaving his neck almost unbearably-open to anything that could come its way; the twin straps of silver metal around his throat would attract all the more attention now, a thought that made him grimace and shudder for an entirely new reason.

 

A bare throat was a throat ‘asking’ to be attacked, especially for someone like him… He’d managed to keep his shoulders up and his chin down –covering the straps from most roving eyes and protecting the fragile flesh from attacks– for the most part, while in the accursed medical area; the sudden loss left Zet feeling vulnerable, to say nothing of the fury of being stolen from.

 

There was no more time to waste. “Hey! I know you’re there! Where the fuck am I?!” First thing’s first, learn the location while he could still think straight enough to bother with it. When no reply came, Zet guessed that his company was probably a guard, which in turn meant that he’d need to be careful… and try not to materialise around the bars on his way out.

 

_That would be amusing, although somewhat less so than if you’d done it to someone else…_

 

“Quiet, I need to think for this.” Zet snarled back, closing his eyes and forcing a few deep breaths to trick his muscles into relaxing slightly. If he was too tense, he’d never get the materialisation correct… and who knew where he’d wind up, if that happened? Thankfully, either out of a spontaneous feeling of compassion or out of sheer survival instinct, there was no further interruption from the darkness of his mind.

 

Before he could even try to stick the landing, however, the verdanet needed to be sure that the dematerialisation step would go through without any trouble. He didn’t need to go far –only far enough to get onto the weird green panels would probably work. As he concentrated on the space he wanted to get to, the air surrounding him started to feel heavier –more solid– pressing in on his body from all angles at once as if to push him out of the very fabric of existence. For a long moment, doubt tugged at him… until, with a near-inaudible pop, Zet disappeared from his cell.

 

Only a second later, and his feet were touching down on the very panel he’d picked out, just outside his cell. Catlike eyes flew open and he hurried to check his body for any missing parts, slumping slightly in relief when nothing turned up as being out of place. “Teleportation, success!” Zet grinned, punching the air above his head.

 

_Get moving, you fool, before your shitty luck gets you into more trouble._

 

Unfortunately, the warning came too late; the panels around him had started to spark, harmlessly at first but the charge rapidly grew to muscle-clenching heights in the time it took for Zet to register what was even happening. The first shock ripped through him, stealing his breath along with it. Before he could suffer another, he dematerialised once again, not even bothering with setting himself a ‘re-entry point’. Anywhere was better than there!

 

When Zet rematerialized next, it was in mid-air in another cell. However, he didn’t have much time to take in his new surroundings before he fell to the floor with a wordless cry. Pulling himself into a crouching position and rubbing his head –stupid walls and insisting on being where his skull wants to go– Zet started to look around.

 

“Curiouser and curiouser…”

 

**~*~|Down the Rabbit Hole|~*~**

 

Jervis Tetch had been reclining comfortably on his bed, hands entwined with each other behind his head, eyes tracing the bobbing and dipping of tiny little bats in the air –he fully expected that anyone he might cheerily inform of the presence of the technicolour creatures would give him one of those stares that he was coming to greatly dislike– and all in all was minding his own, lonesome, business…

 

Then someone appeared out of thin air, in his very cell!

 

It was such a surprise that he could only stare at the green-haired figure for what must have been the longest time… A visitor? Here? And he hadn’t even gotten the tea ready! Just how rude might his new companion think him? Jervis bit his lip. That simply wouldn’t do… it wouldn’t do at all. He watched his visitor rub his head and look around –still not noticing that the small redhead was present, it seemed.

 

He couldn’t leave a visitor in the dark, however, so Jervis opened his mouth to greet him. “Curiouser and curiouser…” Oh dear, that wasn’t what he wanted to say, although the jolt of surprise –like a startled kitten, spinning to face him so fast that Jervis had to blink– made him smile. He tried again. “So, I’m to be visited by the Cheshire Cat, today?” That was a little bit better, but still not… oh, yes, his name! The poor cat was probably waiting for his name –golden eyes pinned to his own bright blue ones. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m the Mad Hatter. You’re more than welcome to stay and chatter.”

 

“Uhm…” Jervis noticed that the cat was breathing quickly, hunched over and undoubtedly more than a smidgeon fluffed up. Poor thing, he gave it such a start. “That’s… an interesting name.”

 

“Oh, yes, it is, isn’t it? I suppose that you want something else, however? A name that is easier to remember? Perhaps ‘Jervis Tetch’ is more to your liking, although I find it’s far less striking.” He smiled brightly at his companion, watching him blink in further surprise, and smiling wider as the cat straightened to his feet. The Hatter swung his legs off of the bed to allow the other to sit somewhere other than the floor –what sort of host would he be, if he allowed such an esteemed guest to sit on the floor?– and was terribly pleased when his invitation was accepted.

 

“…You sure rhyme a lot,” the cat mumbled, then faintly flushed a strange grey colour. “I mean, I, uh, I’m not really used to people doing that. I’m Zet, by the way.”

 

Jervis nodded, although he fought back a frown when he noticed that the cat was still looking rather uncomfortable. “Are you feeling quite well, Cheshire? You seem frightfully on edge.” In response, the verdanet let out a sigh and allowed his head to fall forward, his shoulders hunched up as if he expected to be hit. Someone had trained the Cheshire Cat to be fearful? How horrid! That simply wouldn’t do, no, not at all. The Cat was supposed to be fearless, not cautious.

 

“I already said that it’s… ugh, you know what, never mind.” A quiet groan came out of that mouth full of needles, making Jervis tilt his head to one side. The cat would learn the meaning of his name, eventually, anyway. “Just shaking off being electrocuted, again… Fucking zap-floor…”

 

‘Zap-floor’? Where was there one of those, in this fortress of the Queen of Hearts? Jervis hadn’t the foggiest of ideas. But, still, the horror! No wonder the Cheshire Cat was feeling down, even the hasty White Rabbit would have slowed in pain from being electrocuted. “Oh, I’m so terribly sorry to hear that… it’s no way to treat such a wonderful cat.”

 

“They also stole something of mine… Do you know where they take stuff that’s been ‘confiscated’ from people?” The hopeful tone in the cat’s voice nearly broke Jervis’ heart; whatever it was that the Cards had taken away from him was surely something as precious as the Hatter’s own hat. “And I’m not a cat.”

 

Jervis ignored the last bit –silly creature didn’t know his place in Jervis’ Wonderland… not yet, anyway– and shook his head slowly. “I’m terribly sorry, but I haven’t the slightest clue. However, I’ll do everything I can to help you.” He raised a hand to tap thoughtfully on his chin, looking up to the glittering bats again for inspiration. “I do know of someone who might, although he’s renowned for giving you a fright.”

 

The green-haired cat perked up at that, wearing a charming grin. “Do you mean Crane? I heard he’s got a bit of a ‘scary reputation’, or something like that.”

 

“Why, yes…” the Hatter replied, surprise making his eyes widen. “Have you already met the Caterpillar?”

 

With a little laugh, his companion nodded energetically, and tension that Jervis hadn’t even noticed build up fled from his body at the sight. “Yeah, he’s cool. Bit weird, but cool.” The Cheshire Cat paused, scrutinising Jervis from top to bottom –not that he had much to go between them. “Y’know, I think you’re kinda the same as him. Weird but cool, just in a different way.”

 

Smiling brighter than before, the Hatter gave a laugh of his own. “Oh, frabjous day! What a wonderful thing! I’m so glad you came by today, it’s truly made my heart sing.”

 

**~*~|‘Til the Clock Strikes Twelve|~*~**

 

_This human is absolutely crazy…_

 

Zet happily shoved that train of thought to the back of his mind. After coming to terms with at least some of the weirdness that Jervis seemed to gleefully exude –and the fact that he’d given Zet a really strange nickname– he’d decided that the short man was good company… comfortable company, even, and that was saying a lot. Plus, his rhyming –while jarring at first– was pretty funny. There was one problem, however… “What’s ‘frabjous’ mean?”

 

“Why, it means ‘fantastic’, of course.” Jervis chirped, not missing a beat. Suddenly, Zet found himself wondering whether or not the other was mixing another language into his speech… perhaps that would even explain his rhyming, if the translation between the two resulted in some crazy quirk like that.

 

_Doubtful… That sounds like something you’d do, though._

 

Zet threw a glare to the side that the redhead wasn’t sitting on, deciding to pretend that was where the thoughts came from, hissing ‘shut it!’ for good measure. Yes, that was something he could do… it’d possibly make him seem just a little less crazy to the people in charge if he responded to something outside of himself. That just left getting into the habit of doing things that way. Returning his attention to Jervis, however, Zet cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry about that. Anyways, I think I’m gonna go find Crane… see if he can help.”

 

Puzzlement creased the redhead’s forehead. “But, Cheshire, it’s the middle of the night. Times like this, it’s best to stay out of sight.”

 

“Middle of the…?” Zet started – _the batons_ – then groaned. “Oh, right… Fuck.”

 

For a few minutes, there was silence in the cell, before Jervis perked up so suddenly that he almost bounced off of the bed. “I know! You can stay in here with me, and tomorrow we shall seek the Caterpillar’s help.”

 

The verdanet frowned slightly. “You sure?” he asked, getting nothing but an energetic nod in reply. Well, at least it would ensure he wasn’t forced to be alone until there was some kind of activity in the building –guards didn’t count– and if Jervis was the one offering, then the little guy obviously wasn’t going to try to chuck him out, not that it seemed particularly likely anyways… And if he tried anything, the smaller body would probably be simple enough to restrain… “…Sure, why not? Thousands of times better than being completely alone in this place.”

 

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that,” the Mad Hatter said, then he looked around the cell with a determined expression on his face. Zet decided to interrupt him before he went further down his train of thought.

 

“I’ll take the floor –don’t look at me like that, I don’t mind– at least for tonight. Other nights, if they happen, are another thing that can be decided later, okay?”

 

_Trying to dodge a bullet, are you?_

 

“I don’t need a commentary, asshole,” he snarled back, once again ensuring that he looked away from Jervis when he did so. Getting to his feet and stretching, Zet walked over to the door and plopped himself down, leaning against the wall while offering a toothy smile to his new… not-friend. That was probably the safest position to be in, other than under Jervis’ bed; Zet had no intention of playing ‘boogeyman’ for the night. “‘Sides, this is technically your room, not mine, so it’s not really polite to take your bed.”

 

The mention of politeness seemed to ease the redhead’s discomfort somewhat. “If you’re certain…”

 

“I am.”

 

“Then… goodnight, dear Cat.”

 

“G’night.”

 

**~*~|All for the Screams|~*~**

 

Scarecrow was pacing, stalking in circles and harshly running Jonathan’s fingers through their hair. Like a ‘good little boy’, they’d returned to their cell when directed. Like a ‘good little boy’, they’d waited until the activity in the cells and corridors around them had lessened to the usual night-time not-quite-stillness.

 

There was just one itty-bitty issue.

 

Jonny wasn’t letting them leave, yet, not even to collect their toxin. A hiss came from the Scarecrow’s mouth. “ _Why can’t I just go get it now, and we roam until we find him?_ ”

 

_There’s no guarantee that we won’t be found before then… Do you really want to run the risk of higher security?_

 

“ _Always the cautious one, ain’t ya, Jonny-boy?_ ” Scarecrow murmured, pulling a sardonic smile onto their face. The doctor didn’t reply, other than to flash the image of a dark frown at it. “ _I don’t really care about being ‘careful’… you know that. I just wanna see him writhe…_ ”

 

 _You’ll get that…_ Jonny soothed, and the sensation of a hand resting on their shoulder stilled their feet. _It’s possible that something went rather sideways during his interview._

 

A rasping growl was the Scarecrow’s automatic response. Something going sideways? That happened in, what, forty percent of the lovely inane chats those so-called-specialists had? Their prey was undoubtedly no different… “ _I’m gonna get it now, Jonny… Are ya going t’stop me?_ ”

 

With a soft sigh, Jonathan surrendered. _You’ll get so worked up, sooner or later, that you won’t listen to me… So, no, I’m not going to. Just the toxin, though, unless we find him on the way there._

 

Scarecrow tried to bite down on and swallow the cackle that started to build in their chest, wrapping their arms tightly around their stomach. “ _Alright, Jonny, I can handle that much._ ” If the doctor got distracted by something –anything– then it would start to search more actively for that delicious trickle of terror.

 

Then, everyone would be happy.

 

…Well, except for Zet, that is.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now introducing the made-up term 'azuret' for a [male] with blue hair...

**~*~|Bright and Early|~*~**

 

The sound of approaching footsteps did little to rouse Zet from his bored stupor –there were around seven hundred cracks and stains on the walls, ceiling, and floor of Jervis’ cell, as well as twelve different ways that being called ‘Cheshire Cat’ made no sense to him, and… there hadn’t been much for him to do while the Hatter slept– but when the door swung out from behind him, he couldn’t help the startled shout as his body sprawled partially into the corridor.

 

A bewildered pair of dark brown eyes stared down at him, a sentiment he mirrored easily; the opening and closing of the light-grey-clad woman’s mouth was funny to see, drawing a lopsided smile to his face with one of his upper fangs poking out. Moments passed in silence –neither the verdanet nor the brown-skinned visitor making any move to break it– until a muffled giggle from the bed snapped Zet back to full awareness.

 

“And so, together the Cat and the Hatter awoke. The orderly, however, seemed sure it was a joke!” Jervis smiled up at the woman in the doorway, pushing himself into a seated position. “But don’t worry, have no fear, the Bandersnatch isn’t here.”

 

“Whazzanordalee…?” Zet mumbled –so maybe his mind was still a bit foggy– as he manoeuvred himself into a more comfortable position. Lying with his back arched over the raised lower rim of the doorway was far from pleasant. Then, he registered the rest of the redhead’s comment. “And what’s a ‘bandersnatch’, while we’re at it?”

 

Tapping his chin in an exaggerated manner, the Hatter hummed. “Well, the Bandersnatch is a terrible beast who seeks to make your body its feast. An orderly, on the other hand, is one who works to destroy Wonderland.”

 

That seemed to snap the black-haired visitor out of her confusion, to a degree. “Enough nonsense. Here’s your breakfast, Tetch, and… whether you share it with your roomie or not is up to you. I don’t have another serve.” She held out a plastic tray, laden with what the verdanet could only assume was supposed to be food –it looked more like half-digested refuse from the guts of a diseased Axebeak– and Jervis took it without any complaint. “As for you,” she jabbed a finger towards Zet’s chest, “who are you, and how did you get in here?”

 

Waving a hand at Jervis to dissuade any offers of sharing –he really didn’t want to touch that crap, if need be he’d eat his own limbs instead… they’d grow back, after all, and would probably be tastier too– he turned his attention back to the ‘orderly’. “I’m Zet, and I got in here the same way I got out of the cell I was stuffed into.”

 

_Idiot, don’t admit that. They’ll find some way to stop you, now._

 

“Too late~,” he flashed a grin at the empty corner opposite him. Looking back at her, he deliberately widened his grin to an almost face-splitting degree. “I don’t like being shoved in places while I’m out cold, so I went looking for somewhere else to spend the night.” Zet made a show of shrugging, leaning back against the wall. “Don’t worry, though, I didn’t break anything on my way out, or on my way in. Or, I don’t think I did… if something broke, it wasn’t deliberate. So, as far as I’m concerned, I didn’t break it, especially if I didn’t touch whatever did or didn’t break.”

 

_Shut your mouth before you make a bigger fool of yourself than usual…_

 

Seemingly eager to sooth the orderly’s nerves, Jervis piped up with, “Cheshire Cat paid me a visit… that’s not a problem, is it? Nothing happened that you need to worry about. If there was, well, I’d have given quite a shout.” With that said, he returned to his – _slop_ – morning meal, humming to himself and apparently lost to the world. In return, she levelled both of them with a glare; Jervis seemingly didn’t even notice, and Zet simply let it slide without reacting.

 

“I’m going to have to get someone to move you, y’know…” the orderly stated, sighing heavily and shaking her head. “Stay here, okay? No going who-knows-where before someone opens this door again.”

 

_And just why should you listen to that? While the bitch is gone, go search for your ‘treasure’._

 

“I’ll behave.” Perhaps he said it a little more forcefully than he really needed to, given the odd look she sent him, but he wasn’t about to correct himself. She swung the door closed after maintaining the stare for a full minute, and Zet allowed his attention to roam the small space for the umpteenth time. His breakfast finished, the Mad Hatter set his tray aside and gazed straight at him while wearing a rather goofy-looking grin, chin propped up by his hands and prompting the verdanet to cock his head to one side. “Something on your mind?”

 

Jervis didn’t answer immediately… in fact, he didn’t answer at all for several minutes, choosing to watch Zet start to shift and fidget instead. “It’s so nice to find another… it’s actually quite a bother. I look, and I look, you just won’t believe how long it took!”

 

_He’s getting worse, the longer you’re here… It’s time to leave, isn’t it? Time to look for that ‘scarecrow’… supposing he can even help you find it again. Or else you could simply put the runt out of his misery…_

 

Refusing to acknowledge the snide comment, Zet blinked slowly back at him. “Why did you give me that nickname, anyway?” Persistently circling in his thoughts while waiting for the new day, the question had actually been bugging him since he first heard the words come out of Jervis’ mouth; it sounded less and less like a typical nickname and more and more like some sort of… he wasn’t even sure what it was, and it frustrated him. He wasn’t a cat, he had no idea what ‘cheshire’ meant or referred to… For all Zet knew, it might have simply meant ‘green’ –it wasn’t even really his colour, no matter what his hair might suggest, it was actually the colour of the brute of a crocodile-man back home.

 

“Because you are the Cheshire Cat.” The Mad Hatter offered a shrug, then paused for a moment and got to his feet, moving to peer closely at the verdanet’s face. There was something subtly different about him, now… was it the way he held himself? Or… “You really don’t know about Wonderland, do you…?”

 

“I… uh…” Fidgeting once again –when did the room start to shrink, or was he just imagining it? Since when did the little redhead set his senses one step away from overdrive?– but somehow unable to tear his eyes away from Jervis’ face, Zet could do little other than jerk his head from side to side. The Hatter’s expression flickered through several emotions; curiosity, irritation, pity, and finally settling on calm determination.

 

“Hm, such a shame,” the short man murmured, reaching out with one hand to pat the top of Zet’s head, watched closely by wide golden eyes. “Don’t fret, my dear Cheshire. I’ll teach you.”

 

Just as he was about to say something in reply –what, exactly, he had no idea… but not replying wasn’t an option he even thought to contemplate– the door opened again, revealing the frizzy-haired orderly from earlier –Zet decided to call her Peppercorn– and an incredulous-looking Pastamop. Glad for the distraction –why? It wasn’t like Jervis was actually any sort of threat– Zet offered the guard a wave.

 

“Hey, long time, no see, Pasta’.”

 

An amused snort after a few seconds of increased incredulity was his response. “I don’t know how you came up with that one, but I’ve had worse. So, kiddo, wanna tell me how you got in there?” The guard crossed his arms and leaned his weight on one leg, suddenly reminding Zet of various parents he’d seen while exploring all over the place, back home. He tried to ignore the flare of emotion that raised its head at that; getting homesick –if that’s what it was– wouldn’t do him any good, nor would that taint of jealous curiosity.

 

“Didn’t like where I got put, so… I went roaming.” It wasn’t exactly a lie if that was something he really would have done in slightly different circumstances, right? No matter, he’d already said it, no turning back now. “Any time I’m shoved in a room by myself, I’m just gonna go find some company, mmkay?”

 

The guard huffed, but not in a way that sounded particularly upset; more like he was trying hard not to laugh outright. “Look, like it or not, we’ve got rules and regulations we have to follow…”

 

“I don’t really care.”

 

“…and there’s only so much leeway we can give ya, if you keep insisting on pushing your luck.” Pastamop continued, as if Zet hadn’t interrupted. He gestured for Peppercorn to leave, which she did after grabbing the tray. “I know you’re probably used to doing stuff a certain way, but you gotta realise that we’re trying our best, here.”

 

“No, you’re not. Cheshire had something taken from him.” Jervis accused, earning himself surprised glance. “And, I would imagine that it was far from a mere whim…”

 

Pastamop had the grace to look apologetic. “Look, kid, that was the doctor’s orders –some crap about seeing how you handle being without the thing…” He winced when Zet let out a loud growl. “I can’t do anything about that, other than to try talking to her… which reminds me, after you get some breakfast in ya, you’ve got another chat with her, this time with restraints. Unless you think you can handle not attacking her?”

 

“That depends…” Zet huffed, baring his teeth. He couldn’t help the tiny smirk at Jervis’ comment of ‘provoking the Cat… well, no wonder, that silly notion’s bound to put you six feet under’, though he was fairly certain he hid it well enough in the actions of standing and stretching. “I wanted to hang out with Jervis and Crane today, though.”

 

“Considering what you did, you were supposed to stay in that cell for at least a week –interviews aside– you know,” the guard stated. “However,” he added before Zet had a chance to react, “given that’s been proven to be a less-than-viable option, maybe an arrangement can be reached.” One of Pastamop’s hands came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “For now, just go with the flow, kiddo. Save us all some trouble, a’ight?”

 

_If you must insist on playing their game, then at least get something more out of it… Make them give you some incentive._

 

Zet crossed his arms. Saving himself some trouble was all well and good, but that didn’t mean he particularly felt like making things easier for them. Fixing his gaze on Jervis, he sighed. “Can we put what we talked about on hold, Hatter?”

 

Blinking owlishly, the small man nodded after a short pause. “But of course, Cheshire, do not worry. Though, you’d best be going –better to be safe than sorry.”

 

He turned to face the guard, offering a sharp nod of his own. “Alright then. Take two, and all that crap…”

 

**~*~|Once More, With Feeling|~*~**

 

In less than an hour, Zet once again found himself in the interview room, waiting for the brunette doctor to arrive –knowing that she was probably watching him, maybe with some trepidation, from behind the dark glass. There was certainly someone behind it, someone whose presence felt rather like mould, but he was getting off-topic.

 

There were a couple of differences with his situation, this time. His wrists and ankles had been secured to the various metal rings in the table, and there was a tray lying on the table in front of him –although he had some difficulty eating from it, with the short reach afforded to him by the chains he could probably snap if he really tried. On the way from Jervis’ cell, he’d been taken past what he could only assume was the kitchen, Pastamop making a special order for him through the intercom by the door. The woe-is-me look on the man’s face when he’d insisted on having something entirely different to what the Hatter had been served –they called it ‘porridge’, apparently– had been almost enough to have the green-haired youth doubling over and gasping for air around his laughter.

 

Zet preferred meat, and –albeit with some persuasion– the kitchen staff had delivered, giving him a plateful of bacon and eggs… and a few other things, which he not only couldn’t quite recognise but also debated flinging at the window, just to find out what sorts of noises and grease patterns they could make. He barely even noticed the happy humming coming out of his throat as he ate; he’d deny it instantly if anyone happened to point out that it wasn’t so much a humming noise as it was a rumbling noise, because that was just stupid. The only rumbles he made were when he was hungry –his gut– and when he was angry –growling– never anything else… and especially never when he was fairly happy, all things considered.

 

_You can’t help but sound stupid, after all… is there any chance for you, at this point?_

 

“Ah, shuddap, ‘m eatin’…” he mumbled around a mouthful of sweetened pig meat, throwing a glance at the Door of Doom. There were footsteps approaching the barrier, and with the presence on the other side of the dark glass having disappeared from behind the tinted pane, he could only assume that the brunette was on her way.

 

True to expectation, the door opened and there she was, giving him an appraising glance that Zet didn’t bother to meet and settling her chair just a little bit further away from the table than last time –perhaps she thought he’d attack without provocation. Zet bit back a snicker, raising one hand to offer a half-hearted wave to the woman he decided to call Toadstool from that moment onwards –a big head and ‘innocent’ appearance combined with a poisonous demeanour… it just seemed to fit.

 

The doctor smiled back at him, placing that same yellow folder –it was a bit thicker, now, he noted idly– down on her side of the tabletop. “Hello, Zet. You seem to be in a better mood, this morning.” Her voice was carefully restrained; pleasant and unassuming, but not too much, and Zet tried to keep from letting it get under his skin.

 

“Mmh, met someone else cool,” he replied after swallowing. “First, it was Crane and Riddles… then it was Hatter. The people you guys have locked up in here are pretty interesting.”

 

_Aren’t you going to demand your ‘treasure’ be returned to you?_

 

Zet turned his head to the window, a slight frown crossing his face. “Not yet, I’m trying to be nice… See if it works, y’know?” He wasn’t surprised to hear that damned scritch-scratching of her pen dancing over paper… it was part of the reason he’d responded, after all. If she thought she was getting something, wouldn’t that mean she’d leave certain topics alone…? Hopefully.

 

_Naïve fool…_

 

“So, you get along with them, do you?” Toadstool asked, slapping a little smile onto her face for good measure. The verdanet could hear her practically chomping at the bit, itching to ask who he was talking to; he was grudgingly impressed when she didn’t.

 

He took his time in answering, cleaning the remnants of his breakfast off the tray before paying any real attention to her question. To his surprise, she actually waited. “Yeah, well enough… though Riddles got a bit pissed at me, too.” One shoulder rose and fell in a sort of shrug. “Gonna have to make it up to him, somehow… he seems to be the sort who keeps a grudge.”

 

“Mister Nigma does have something of a reputation, yes,” she nodded, then tilted her head to the side. “But, we’re not here to talk about him. We’re here to talk about you.”

 

“But he’s probably more interesting for me…!” At the moment, at least, although that wasn’t usually the case –Zet typically liked talking about himself, he got to spin tales about how awesome he was, whether they were truthful or not. With a forced pout, he leaned back in his chair. “Fine, fine, we’re talking about me, huh?”

 

_Trying to avoid that is completely out of character for you, brat._

 

Toadstool was silent for a moment, then she smiled in her careful-yet-fake manner. “Why don’t you tell me anything you like about your home?”

 

Ah, back to trying to dig up as many of his secrets –and not-so-secrets– as possible. He had to draw in a few deep breaths to keep from letting the traces of irritation grow too far. “Home, huh…? You sure are focused, I guess I gotta give you that, Toadstool.” Oops, he didn’t mean to let that slip. Oh well, too late now. “There’s… a lot of different environments to see, I guess.”

 

“You said that you were from ‘the north’, yes?” Zet was pleased to notice that she seemed a bit put-off by her new nickname. “How would there be that many different ones?”

 

He blinked. “Huh?”

 

“What places have you been, then?”

 

Zet froze, suddenly realising the corner he’d stumbled blindly into. The verdanet had seen enough of the world he’d been thrust into to realise that what he considered to be common knowledge was about as common to the people he was surrounded with as the idea that magma could possibly feel like arctic slush. Not that he thought it could, because that was even stupider than stealing from someone who’s already pissed off at you.

 

Regardless, he pressed onwards; maybe he’d get lucky and wouldn’t come out of it sounding even crazier than Fruit Bowl seemed to think he was. “Well, there was Volcannon Trap –betcha ain’t heard of that one, it’s built into the top of a nearly-active volcano– which is home to some really crazy would-be scientists with tongues as long as they are tall, among other things. I also went to the kinda-wasteland around the Caging Tower…” he trailed off, watching her expression grow more and more confused. It was time for a new topic… past time for one, actually.

 

_Why not give her something else she thinks she wants…? Tell her about them. Tell her about your ‘family’…_

 

“…Fine.” Zet snarled, throwing the window a dark glare. “My uncle’s a scientist, too, actually… though I’m not sure which is crazier –him or the Zonemakers and co…” Toadstool’s chair scraped loudly along the floor as she perked up, and he tried to smother the reflexive wince under an uneasy squirm. “He’s the one responsible for the lightning rod part of my injuries, when I arrived here.”

 

Scratch-scritch-scratch went the pen. “He attacked you? What did he do that for?”

 

_Because he revels in bloodshed… You don’t even know which colour he likes to see more, do you?_

 

“He’s a sadist, duh.” It was the obvious, understated answer. “Uncle Al’ is… he likes to study the limits of people’s bodies. See what’s just that little bit too much, y’know?” Another understatement, another not-quite-enough answer; Toadstool’s fingers tightened on her pen, as if she was trying to keep it from flying out of her grip and writing something nonsensical –the mental image managed to coax a small smirk onto the verdanet’s face.

 

“Is that something he’s studied regarding you?” she asked carefully. A sharp jerk of his head was the only response Zet gave her, but it was enough for another bout of hasty writing. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like; your own family treating you like that…”

 

“Eh, I got used to it, after a few centuries…”

 

_You idiot…_

 

Zet jolted in his chair, then let loose a stream of growled profanities as he registered just what he’d said. Oh, sure, let’s just give them a hint that he’s older than any human they’d have ever met, that’s bound to get them to believe him! “That’s what it felt like, anyways!” he forced out in a rush. Toadstool’s eyes searched his, and Zet grimaced to cover the wide snarl that begged to be unleashed at her –ire snapping at his throat like hot flames, aching to be freed into hers.

 

“I didn’t say it didn’t,” the brunette acquiesced with a slow nod. She fell silent for about a minute –the quiet making the gold-eyed youth fidget and tap his fingers on his thighs in an uneven beat– before opening her mouth again. “You said that there was a member of your family who you got along with, how about you tell me about them?”

 

She probably guessed it was a safe enough tangent to get back to what she really wanted to hear… and, if he let her control the conversation too much, she was probably right. He shrugged. “He’s a sort of bounty-hunter… taught me a few tricks, too. Though, I never understood how he and Luce’ got together…” Zet hummed thoughtfully, staring at his reflection in the dark glass as if it had the answer. “Probably something to do with his bloodlust, I guess.”

 

The pen faltered at that, and he didn’t bother stopping his toothy grin. She wanted to know, so he was going to tell her… suddenly, Zet wondered if he could get her to vomit from describing the other members of his family. “Who is ‘Luce’?”

 

“Oh, just a primordial projection of desire from the planet’s blood.” Truth? Yes… Truth of this world? Questionable. “Lucied likes to look kinda like a werewolf, though I’ve only seen her when she’s not a he –apparently that can happen.” Now, it was a lopsided smirk on the green-haired youth’s face. “She’s stuck around with him for… a long time, now… and it’s really weird, because all of her old buddies want the whole family dead or gone, or both.”

 

“I can’t imagine why.” Toadstool said, and Zet decided that it was proof she wasn’t really listening. Either that, or her interpretation was something completely different to what he’d expected. “You’ve certainly got a rather… colourful… history, don’t you?”

 

Confusion pulled his features into a frown. “That’s one way of putting it, I guess.”

 

_She thinks you’re mad… congratulations, fool, you’ve failed your goal._

 

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll be going mad sooner or later!” he snapped back, glaring at an empty corner; he nearly laughed at the startled jump the doctor performed, but the re-emerging chill in the base of his skull that he’d long since come to associate with the darkest parts of his mind kept any mirth under wraps.

 

_Maybe you’re already there. You never were particularly sane…_

 

“Who’s talking to you, Zet?”

 

He should have known that she couldn’t keep her curiosity to herself about that, he really should have been able to predict her pushing for answers yet again –and she was managing to avoid it so well, too. Well, two could play at that game. “Where’s my scarf, Doctor Toadstool?”

 

“…How about a trade? If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours.” Toadstool offered after a moment’s thought.

 

While it was more than a little bit vindictive and outside of his typical fare, Zet enjoyed the wince she gave when he let out a harsh growl; it worked to soothe some of his irritation, at least. Regardless, how dare she try to bargain for information, ultimately holding something that belonged to him to ransom?

 

Zet’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a way that bared more than seemed possible, his breath hissing loudly through the white barrier. Sharp claws of anger slipped under his skin, searing-hot and insistent, and the verdanet wasted no time in loosing another growl laden with unspoken warnings. Only when the non-verbal approach yielded nothing did he bite out any more words, clipped and half-swallowed by bestial rumbles though they were. “Don’t play games. Where is it?”

 

“If you’re not willing to ‘play’,” she began –amazingly, she kept her voice steady– then waited a moment before continuing with, “then I’m afraid I can’t help you get your scarf back.”

 

_Bitch is too good for her… No, that, sitting in front of you, is an arrogant whore. She’s the one who ordered it taken, she’s the one who wants to know so much about you… she’s the one you need to kill to get free of this place. Don’t you see? Don’t you want to –need to– be rid of her… forever…?_

 

“It means a lot to you, that much is obvious, but if you can’t function properly without it… well, you’re in for some big problems later in life.” Toadstool pressed onward, her tone taking on a degree of cold aloofness, and seemingly not noticing Zet’s spine curve forward just a little bit or his limbs tense or his fingers curl. “I told you yesterday; you need to cooperate with me.”

 

“No, what I need…” An even louder growl ripped out of his throat, nearly eclipsing his words. “…is what belongs to me.”

 

“Then answer my questions, it’s that simple.”

 

She had to be some kind of high-grade idiot to pay no attention to the warnings he was giving her; even a child could understand the potential dangers of poking a creature while it’s growling like he was, while it’s snarling like he was, while it’s so obviously ready to strike like he was… Zet hated to compare himself to an animal, but he couldn’t deny the ease with which he could –usually, when they weren’t utter morons– communicate using some of the same methods. Words could be misinterpreted, or jumbled up, but primal sounds and actions… those spoke to a deeper part of the brain, in a language that every being understood. Well, almost every being.

 

Why did it keep coming back to the meaning of his scarf, anyway? Why did there have to be a meaning? What if he just liked it? Did she think of that? Maybe she should have! Very deliberately, Zet pushed himself further into his chair, trying to put just that tiny bit more distance between them. “If you push, I’m going to snap…” he hissed –his voice barely even sounded like his own anymore– as he narrowed his eyes into gleaming slits.

 

That finally seemed to get through to her, and the brunette at last had the awareness to look uncomfortable. “Do you mean that you’re thinking of attacking me again?”

 

“Attack you…? Nah, more like chew you up and spit you out…” he answered quietly, more to himself than to her. Louder, he added, “…Yes.” The syllable rolled out of his mouth, sounding more like an angry snake than an actual word.

 

Toadstool nodded to a spot behind Zet’s back. “Then, I think we’re done for now. You can take him away, now.”

 

**~*~|Codebreaker|~*~**

 

Rudy was used to going places that most wouldn’t dare to venture –it was part of the job description when you wandered the wilds, after all– and caves were certainly among that list. Normally, however, he entered caves from the mouth… not from the apparent middle.

 

The blue-haired teen stared around the surprisingly-well-lit space, brandy-gold eyes taking in the sight of metal platforms and even a fair amount of machinery –including pieces that had been built into the rock at somewhat-organised intervals. After noticing large screens suspended above some kind of terminal, he made a split-second decision; surely he could learn something about where he’d found himself, if only he could get it to work.

 

Booted feet approached the computer with soft, tentative steps, one of his hands holding the butt of the weapon strapped to his belt. When nothing leapt out at him, teeth gnashing and claws ready to rend, he relaxed slightly… though he did keep an eye on the cave ceiling, the chittering and rustling coming from above his head speaking volumes about how alone he definitely wasn’t. Standing in front of the machine, Rudy hesitated, biting his lip and throwing another quick glance around the cave –no-one’s there, why was he being so cautious?– before allowing his free hand to rest lightly on the buttons.

 

He even managed to swallow his yelp of surprise when the machine stirred, screens lighting up and filling with words and pictures so suddenly that he hadn’t heard any of the usual whirrs.

 

“Wait, wait…” the azuret muttered when the information started to flash across the screens too quickly for him to comprehend. Instantly, the influx slowed to a crawl, drawing a small smile onto his face. This one was even more responsive than the computers on the ancient ghost ship he’d explored with his friends; that was a thought that soured his mood… after all, where were they? Had they also been swept away from the campsite?

 

What he could only assume were news reports came up on the left-hand side, each with the basic subject of new figures in the city –he’d never heard of a place called ‘Gotham’ before– none of which showing any similarities to anyone he knew. Rudy frowned, then shook his head. With such a ready source of information at his fingertips, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity; it could prove invaluable for when he found any of the others. Keeping that thought at the forefront of his mind, he returned his attention to the machine.

 

Could it teach him about this city, and –what? Just how big were those towers?– most importantly, what sorts of dangers might be found…? After all, it was better to be ready, just in case.

 

Another slew of images and text flashed across the screens. “That’s too fast.” Obligingly, the rush slowed to a much more comfortable trickle. Rudy blinked; this computer really seemed to respond to speech… he could definitely make use of that. To test the theory, he took a deep breath to steady himself, and picked a recurring term. “Tell me about--…”

 

“I think you should carefully reconsider what you’re about to say, young man.”

 

It was reflex that had Rudy drawing his weapon and levelling it at the chest of the old man who’d entered the cave from behind him, and it was confusion and suspicion that kept his aim steady. The teen’s brow furrowed, his head tilting just a bit to the side while he waited for the man to say or do something else. If he’d been watching the computer screens, he’d have noticed a file on ‘Alfred Pennyworth’ appear, complete with an image of the man he’d nearly shot in the heart.

 

“If you were to consider putting your weapon aside, perhaps we could come to some sort of arrangement?” the man continued, a note of dry humour –slightly forced, but present nonetheless– easing the tense lines in Rudy’s stance more than his actual words ever could. The barrel of the gun-like weapon lowered, though he didn’t re-holster it just yet. “Might I ask where you came from?”

 

Staying silent, he studied the new arrival. In many ways, he reminded Rudy of the reserved yet terribly-skilled butler he and his friends had crossed paths with a couple of times in the past; the straight-backed poise, the well-groomed appearance, even the suit and his manner of speech. “…I don’t think you’d have heard of it,” the azuret answered, keeping his voice even. “However, let’s say that I come from a small seaside town called Surf.”

 

Now it was the elder’s turn to frown slightly in confusion. “Oh dear, I suppose you may have a point –supposing you’re telling the truth.” Rudy belatedly realised that the other had kept his hands clasped behind his back; trying to maintain an air of calmness, or hiding something? There was no way he was underestimating the capabilities of anyone, even those who appeared mild-mannered or unskilled in the act of battle. “Would you mind if I include someone else in this conversation?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the computer, only moving closer when the blue-haired teen shook his head and took a few steps away from the machine.

 

Rudy watched him carefully, noting the slight tenseness in the man’s shoulders, but he found himself impressed by his self-control. “Who are you contacting?” Not that he had any idea how exactly a computer could be used to contact someone over a sizable distance, in the first place. To his knowledge, they were devices to store and process information, not for communication.

 

“What is it, Alfred?” asked a new voice, coming from the computer. Rudy’s head snapped up to look at the screens again, now showing the moving image of a man wearing some sort of black mask or helmet with hornlike prongs on either side of the cranium. “Who’s that, with you?”

 

“That’s what I’ve called for, sir. You see, I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

 

Despite the itch in his trigger finger and the rapid swapping in and out of his thoughts, Rudy focused his attention on the masked face. “My name is Rudy… who are you?” Sharp blue eyes narrowed at the azuret through the screen, prompting a series of confused blinks. “Am I supposed to know who you are?”

 

“I’m Batman.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**~*~|Vulnerable Truth|~*~**

 

“Bat… man?” Rudy’s forehead creased as he tried to process the masked man’s name –or was it some kind of title? Honestly, he really couldn’t tell. The azuret shook his head… now wasn’t the time to get hung up on names or titles. “Where am I, other than a modified cave?”

 

It was the older man –the masked man called him Alfred– who replied. “Surely you knew that, before you started to use the computer?” That earned another sharp look from Batman, which in turn was answered with a soft sigh and curt nod. “Yes, indeed, sir. The Batcomputer’s sudden activity is what alerted me to something potentially being amiss.”

 

“You have strange names for things,” the teen stated bluntly, shifting his weight uneasily and looking off to one side when he realised he’d said it aloud. “I meant no offence, sorry.”

 

“None taken.” Batman’s eyes narrowed in what was clearly a well-practiced glare, pinning Rudy to the spot –he was somewhat glad that he didn’t shrink back from the screen, or even flinch. “I take it you’re new to Gotham.” It wasn’t a question, but Rudy nodded anyway. “How did you bypass the security protocols, not only for the cave itself but also for the computer?”

 

Briefly, he contemplated spinning some sort of lie, idly recognising that the truth would seem fanciful… but that wouldn’t get him anywhere, in the long run, and –if discovered– would make things worse, outright. Plus, he wasn’t that good at maintaining a falsehood, especially without someone to help him keep the story straight. As such, it had to be the truth. “I didn’t enter through the cave mouth, or any other true ‘entrance’; one minute, I was tending the campfire… and the next, I was just over there.”

 

He raised his empty hand to point at the exact platform he’d initially found himself on, waiting for any comments from either of the others. Nothing came, apart from expressions of confusion. Very well, at least they weren’t trying to interrupt him.

 

“As for the computer…” Rudy trailed off, unsure how to continue. Should he simply say that he had absolutely no clue why computers seemed to just… work… for him? All he did was touch the machine, after all –not a single button had to be pressed. Then again, this ‘bat computer’ responded to vocal commands, so perhaps it wouldn’t seem as strange to them. “It just… worked?”

 

“I suppose that may be one way of putting it.” Alfred said quietly. “Is that a regular phenomenon?”

 

“Regular enough, I suppose…”

 

The edges of the computer screen went fuzzy for a moment. “That’s enough beating around the bush. I assume you wanted something… tell me.”

 

Again, the blue-haired teen remained silent while he weighed his options, not that he had very many of them. Trusting a masked person was usually considered to be naïve at best –foolish or even dangerous at worst– but at the same time there was something about Batman that he couldn’t help but find worth the risk. “My friends, they… I don’t believe that I was the only one to be suddenly relocated.”

 

He watched as the sharp iciness in Batman’s eyes warmed and softened slightly –it really was a human under that mask. “I take it that you want my help with that.”

 

“I’m not asking for free help,” Rudy replied, choosing his words carefully. “I noticed from the articles that you have some kind of ‘vigilante reputation’… I can help you, in return for you helping me find the others and maybe learn more about what happened.” The azuret could feel the masked man’s gaze turn calculating once more, and felt the need to add, “I can hold my own in a fight, after all.”

 

“If you carry a gun, then I can only assume that you think so, at least.”

 

The word ‘gun’ was uttered with such thinly-veiled contempt that he nearly did flinch. “It’s… not quite the same thing, but I suppose that doesn’t matter.” Now, he did re-holster the weapon, if only as a show of good faith; the tenseness in Alfred’s body eased in response. “Please.”

 

It was only after another few minutes that Batman made any move to give his answer, time that Rudy spent swallowing down the hard lump of nervousness growing in his throat and struggling to keep his hands still. “…I’ll put you through your paces before I even think of allowing you to help with that.” Rudy’s face started to fall. “But, I see no reason not to look into whether or not your friends also came to my city.”

 

Emotions that he couldn’t even begin to describe flooded his system, and he tried to channel a fraction of it into his voice. “Thank you…”

 

Batman gave him a quick nod. “I’ll be there in a few minutes; Alfred, don’t let him go anywhere until I arrive.”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

**~*~|Unlike Cats and Dogs|~*~**

 

Sticking to the rooftops had, in retrospect, been one of his better ideas; it kept the two of them out of sight from the majority of the population while still allowing them to gain a feel for the sprawling city. To a human perspective, very little about the pair wouldn’t warrant a second, closer look –something which he had little patience for at the moment. Normally, he didn’t care much for subtlety or secrecy, but…

 

The creature at his side was clearly suffering.

 

_‘Don’t worry so much, it doesn’t suit you. I’ll be fine…’_

 

“I’m not worried about you,” he retorted, more out of habit than anything else, and lacking any bite that could lend true credence to the statement. Eying her, he let out a breathy bark that could have been laughter, if allowed to mature. “You look sick; I thought you couldn’t even fall ill.” And it was true… Her pelt –usually a vivid mix of purple and blood-red– looked dull and hung limply from her lupine body, while the dark scales that ran down her throat, chest, and stomach seemed ready to flake off.

 

 _‘It’s this place, is all. You’ll keep me well enough.’_ She leaned against his leg for a moment before righting herself once more. _‘I’m… hungry.’_

 

Steel-covered fingers threaded through the fur behind her ears. “I should find something for you to ‘eat’, in other words.” He felt her nod, and he turned his attention back to the city around them. “I’ll have to find someone worthwhile, then… mere pawns won’t light a strong enough blaze.” Unseen behind the mask he wore, a smirk started to grow, although it faded as another thought struck him. “We certainly came a long way, didn’t we, Lucied?”

 

 _‘Very. I can’t feel the planet’s lifeblood, here… There’s something else, either blocking it or in its place.’_ Despite her voice flowing directly into his mind, she paused to yawn widely. _‘Besides, there are multiple ways of keeping me satiated –and you, as well. You know that, Sir Boomerang.’_

 

He gave a quiet snort at that. “I’ve only recently gotten the title of ‘knight’, and you’re already trying to tease me with it?”

 

 _‘You know I’m fond of you, so why wouldn’t I tease you every now and then? Not to mention that you seem more tense than usual –I was trying to ease that. Did I go too far?’_ As she spoke, her long tail curled around them both. Then her whole body jolted and he stiffened in response. _‘…Company. Soon.’_

 

“Think they’re strong?” he asked, keeping his voice low, knowing her keen ears would catch it regardless.

 

_‘…Greedy, yes, but I’m not sure…’_

 

Not even a full minute later, and they were joined on their rooftop perch by a slender woman in a black and green bodysuit. Surprise flashed in her green eyes for a few seconds before she straightened from her crouch with all the grace of a satisfied feline, covering her previous expression with one of carefully-constructed sultriness. Strapped to one hip was a coiled whip, which one of her clawed gloved hands rested on in an almost-nonchalant manner; he bit back a chuckle, she was clearly off-kilter. “And who might you be?” she asked, tone a perfectly-fabricated mix of alluring and amused.

 

“Newcomers to the city. What about you?” he countered easily, cocking his head to one side and narrowing his eyes slightly –he knew she could see them, yellow-gold and gleaming through his visor. However –unlike many– she faltered only out of unfamiliarity, meeting his stare evenly. He was actually rather impressed.

 

“Don’t you know? I’m Catwoman.” A smile spread across her lips –had she painted them? Another trick in her arsenal, perhaps– as she moved away from the edge, hips swaying. “Well, that’s what all the naughty boys call me, anyway.”

 

 _‘I can see why. You like to play with men, do you?’_ Lucied’s voice startled her; she looked around the rooftop quickly, scanning it with practised precision. _‘I’m here. I’m the wolf in front of you.’_

 

“How…?” Catwoman breathed, then she shook her head and added, “Nevermind, I probably don’t want to know.”

 

He decided that it was time to get something useful out of her; small talk could be entertaining, but only when he didn’t have something to do. “Tell me, who can give me the best challenge?” It was blunt, it was to-the-point, and it came out a little harsher than he’d quite intended. If he could have been bothered, he might have given some sort of understated apology… nah. Not his style.

 

In response, she arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “Challenge? You’ll need to be a bit more specific than that… and I’ll need a name; I can’t send you snapping at anyone’s heels if I don’t have anything to call you.”

 

“Battle… and my name is Boomerang.”

 

Now, she smirked at him. “Oh really? Let me guess, if you find someone you like fighting, you keep going back for more?”

 

“Only for some… I tend to kill them, instead.” It was only those who survived his first fight –who gave him a taste of the vicious heaven he really wanted– that he returned to. He watched a flicker of uncertainty dance through her expression, and allowed a laugh to escape at long last. So that was her link to his new quarry? He idly found himself wondering whether or not his prey had some kind of animal theme as well. “I don’t mean to kill whoever it is; not outright, anyway, not as things stand. You can keep your fur sleek, cat-woman.”

 

“It’s not like I’m actually that concerned –it’s just a bit more fun having him around. You’re looking for the Batman, probably… unless you’re more interested in brute force, in which case it’d be Bane.” Catwoman paused, tapping a clawed finger lightly against her chin. “As for how to find him, you’ll see him wherever there’s trouble when that ‘Bat Signal’ of his lights up the clouds. Not that hard, really.”

 

Boomerang resisted the urge to snicker and say ‘thought so’. Instead, he gave her a sharp nod. “That’s all I needed.”

 

 _‘Maybe we can make it up to you, later… Catwoman.’_ His partner’s voice had taken on a teasing quality again, making him glance down at her. _‘Cats like to play, don’t they?’_

 

“Hm, normally, though I don’t know what sort of games a talking technicolour canine might cook up,” she answered with a shrug, before sashaying over to the opposite edge of the rooftop. “Maybe I’ll see you around, maybe I won’t. Don’t go trying to make too much of a name for yourselves, though.” Perched on the very edge, Catwoman sent another smirk at them. “Dressed up like that, you’d be bound for Arkham in no time.”

 

Then she stepped off.

 

“What a strange woman…” Boomerang muttered, not bothering to check whether or not she’d survived that stunt –he assumed she was smart enough not to do something like that if she had no way of handling herself in mid-air. “So… all we need is some trouble to be stirred and he’ll show up?”

 

_‘That will be easy for us.’_

 

A quiet laugh built up in his chest. “True… humans panic very easily, after all… You’ll get your feed, Lucied. I’ve got a good feeling about this ‘Batman’.”

 

**~*~|Report: Young, Penelope|~*~**

 

“So, how is our newest guest going, so far?”

 

Penelope sighed, shaking her head slightly at the warden’s question. “He’s… moody. One moment he’s in a decent enough mood, and the next he’s showing signs of some fairly violent habits. This won’t be a quick fix –nor will it be an easy one.”

 

A frown tugged on Sharp’s face. “That’s… rather unfortunate. Do you believe that he’s going to be too much of a handful for you?”

 

“No,” she replied, shaking her head again, with more fervour. “I believe he’s willing to open up to me, if I ‘play by his rules’. Of course, that will be changing sooner rather than later, but there’s definitely some hope for him…” The brunette offered her boss a small but confident smile. “If nothing else, the cocktail of traits he’s shown so far make for an interesting patient.”

 

“Go over some of them, Doctor Young.”

 

“Well, the most obvious is the fact that he suffers from some sort of delusion –I’m not quite sure yet if he even understands where in the world he is. There have been multiple instances where he’s seemingly suffered auditory –and possibly also visual– hallucinations… Although the biggest problem he appears to have is the clear inclination towards inflicting harm on others when in a less-than-favourable mood.” Here, she stopped, both to recollect her thoughts and to allow Sharp to process what she’d said. “I can’t confidently put him on any particular treatment, not yet, but it shouldn’t be long, now.”

 

Seemingly satisfied with her assurances, the warden adjusted his glasses and gave his own nod –one with an air of finality. “That is definitely good to hear. Keep up the good work, and remember to inform me of any changes, good or bad.”

 

Taking the dismissal for what it was, she nodded, gathering up the still-thin file belonging to her newest patient, and left the warden’s office.

 

**~*~|Group Feels|~*~**

 

Sometimes, Jonathan found himself wondering just why the staff still tried to get any of Gotham’s ‘rogues’ to participate in any group therapy sessions; even if they made the groups small and tried to synchronise perceived-to-be-similar individuals together –it apparently made things run a little smoother– there was always going to be something that went awry. Every time.

 

Scarecrow found it hilarious, often pestering him to let it play with the psychiatrist of the day… which he did, every now and then, and he was seriously considering doing it again as a pair of guards escorted him into the ‘feel-good room’, as he’d heard a certain mad clown describe it once. Taking one of the provided seats, he arranged his wiry limbs with a deliberately-ragdoll-like demeanour; Scarecrow would be having some fun, after all, and maybe he wouldn’t wind up with a migraine from his alter-ego’s impatient writhing.

 

Thinking back while he allowed Scarecrow to emerge, Jonathan tried to remember who would be joining him this time. Mister Nigma was a regular with the sessions he attended, as was Mister Tetch…

 

 _Relax, Jonny-boy, we’ll see soon enough._ Scarecrow flexed their fingers, then rolled their head and shoulders to work out kinks in their neck that the doctor hadn’t even noticed. As their gaze was cast about the room, Jonathan idly catalogued which guards had taken up residence as wall fixtures –that image coaxed a crooked smirk from his alter-ego– as well as the specialist they’d be terrorising… _Ooh, seems I get to try to crack the stone egg that is Doctor Whistler! Can I pull out all the stops?_

 

_‘Only if you want us to be moved to Solitary.’_

 

_…On second thought, maybe not._

 

 _‘That’s what I thought.’_ Jonathan answered wryly.

 

During their exchange, the Riddler was brought into the room, seating himself with his usual amount of dramatic flair. “Good morning, Jon. Are you doing well?”

 

“ _The cow jumped over the moon, Eddie._ ”

 

In response, Edward grimaced, his brow furrowing. “You know I don’t like that one; it feels almost like you’re trying to steal something of mine.” The other brunet paused, then added, “Plus, it’s always a pain in the neck trying to decipher what you mean when you speak like that.”

 

Scarecrow snickered, countering easily with, “ _If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. If ‘ifs’ and ‘ands’ were pots and pans, there’d be no work for tinkerer’s hands._ ”

 

“The time has come, the walrus said…” a new voice interjected cheerily, prompting both Scarecrow and the Riddler to turn to face the new arrival. Jervis smiled back at them, taking the chair between the two with a degree of childish excitement. “Let’s talk of many things; of shoes--”

 

“ _Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep, and doesn’t know where to find them…_ ” Scarecrow cut in, tilting their head and fixing the Hatter with a stare. “ _Leave them alone, and they’ll come home?_ ”

 

Humming, Jervis nodded –conveniently ignoring the exasperated look Edward was sending them both. “I know no sheep, Caterpillar, not a single one. I did meet something else, however, so tell me… are you done?” He giggled. “I find it strange that you ask me this, the very next time we meet. It rather feels like something’s amiss; you’re hardly being discreet.”

 

On the other side of the room, Doctor Gretchen Whistler followed the conversation in silence, with a notebook open on her lap and her legs crossed. There was no reason for her to interrupt, after all. Talking was the whole point of the next hour.

 

“ _I like little kitty, his coat is so warm, and if I don’t hurt him, he’ll do me no harm…_ ” Scarecrow answered, stretching their body as long as it could, then allowed their limbs fall limply in whatever manner that physics demanded. Deciding to –temporarily, at least… they’d begin again when it felt the time was right– drop the nursery rhymes, it let out a low rasping hum. “ _What about you, Hatter?_ ”

 

“The Cheshire Cat, dear Caterpillar… I’ve found my Cheshire Cat. A pelt of green is the strangest thing I’ve ever seen!”

 

Now, Edward heaved a sigh. “Oh, you’re talking about Arkham’s new resident? I can’t say I see the allure.”

 

“But Dormouse, he’s the perfect fit! You’d have to be blind not to see it.”

 

 _‘It seems Mister Nigma is still sour about yesterday.’_ Jonathan noted dryly, earning a low snicker from his counterpart. _‘That being said… so Mister Tetch is also interested in him? This could become… problematic.’_

 

_Pssht, don’t worry! The Hatter’s harmless if you don’t poke the wrong buttons._

 

_‘Didn’t Zet say that he’s unnaturally good at doing that exact thing?’_

 

_Not in as many words, no… I’m not letting him take our toy away._

 

If his will had been at the forefront, the doctor would have sighed and shaken his head. As it was, however, he could only give the Scarecrow an impression of those actions. _‘I’ll keep an eye on that, you focus on what you do best; coupled with not getting us into any undue messes.’_

 

Once again, while they spoke, another guard entered the room –this time, without an accompanying inmate. She made a beeline for Doctor Whistler, and started talking in hushed tones that did very little to ensure much secrecy, considering the fact that all three of the present rogues had gone quiet. Curiosity was one of those things that was both dead and thriving –in equal measure, too– in a place like Arkham.

 

“Dent’s not coming…” the guard’s news reached Jonathan’s ears in pieces, “…flipped his coin and ‘fate said no’… won’t listen to reason…”

 

Gretchen nodded. “Very well. There’s no need to force the matter if he’s being particularly stubborn; it would only make this session unnecessarily difficult, considering his intense reliance on it. He can join in another time.” The guard gave a nod of her own, then moved to take her place by one of the walls. “Now, it seems we’re all here… The new arrival to Arkham seems to be a popular topic, but will talking about him help any of you?”

 

“Well, I certainly don’t think so.” Edward stated bluntly. “He’s somewhat lacking in all areas, from what I saw; I’d much rather talk about things that I can imagine having some value.”

 

“ _Oh, lighten up, Eddie –you’re being no fun._ ”

 

“I don’t particularly care,” was the flippant retort, complete with a dismissive wave.

 

Never one to stay on the sidelines of a conversation, Jervis ‘tsk’-ed and shook his head sadly. “Well, it is the same with you. Perhaps it was fate? The Cat and the Dormouse… I suppose we should have known?” he asked, sending a smile Jonathan’s way and eliciting a shoulder-shaking silent cackle.

 

“ _With a knick-knack, paddywhack, give the dog a bone._ ” So much for a lull in children’s rhymes. The Scarecrow managed to prevent their face from splitting into a gleeful grin, keeping its voice low and steady… and completely serious.

 

Coolly regarding her former colleague, Doctor Whistler spoke up. “It seems you’re on quite a roll, today, Doctor Crane.”

 

Now, their face did split under the Scarecrow’s crooked grin –Jonathan briefly entertained the image of their flesh literally cracking– as their head snapped into place to meet her gaze. “ _…Doctor Crane isn’t here right now, but if you’d like to make an appointment…?_ ” it snickered, jerking their head to one side in a rather birdlike manner. “ _Good for you, though; you didn’t drop the title. I get so annoyed when people strip me of what I earned._ ”

 

“Regardless of your interests, denying your intelligence has never gone well,” she replied evenly, not missing a beat, then her eyes flicked to the other two rogues in turn. “The same should be said for each of you. I don’t have any desire for this to descend into an argument over your merits.” Jonathan had to admit –at least to himself and his counterpart– that she’d probably chosen the best approach to avoid the inevitable… now it just left seeing whether or not Gretchen’s efforts would succeed.

 

He doubted it.

 

**~*~|Of Flies and Penguins|~*~**

 

Disdain was practically oozing from his body, rolling through the air in toxic waves, as he narrowed scarlet-red eyes at the corpse in his grasp. Mere seconds earlier, the dirty vagabond had still been breathing –whimpering, begging for his life, slimy secretions dripping from his nostrils and eyes– and maybe Alhazred had twitched his long claws just a little too strongly, maybe he had snapped the human’s neck and cut their life short by a few minutes in his impatience.

 

Not that he cared, aside from the continuing lack of adequate information.

 

Zet had really fucked up, this time…!

 

The white-robed scientist dropped the mass of meat and bones with a hiss, his golden-plated tail swishing this way and that under his levitating form. At least he’d managed to catch two words that might be of some use… ‘iceberg lounge’. Granted, he couldn’t be sure that they were meant to be used together, but beggars can’t be choosers, and it was the best he had.

 

Tucked away in the alleyway, Alhazred considered his next move carefully. This city –which he should never have been anywhere near, damn that incompetent little idiot!– was large, and filled with humans… or at least, what he could only assume passed for ‘human’ in this place. There was no way that he could pass by, unnoticed –he was far from humanlike in appearance, after all, and it was something he was proud of, thank you very much– which would undoubtedly lead him into further infuriating situations with the locals.

 

Humans always had the most inane of questions to ask… Alhazred could just imagine it, now. ‘Where are your legs’, ‘why do you have a tail’, ‘what’s with the golden mask’, ‘how are you floating’… the list was almost endless. It actually had him contemplating whether he should try to look into altering his appearance before venturing further into the city, for a moment; then he let out a giggle through clenched fangs at his flickering resolve, steeling it once again.

 

He was a master in his fields, he didn’t need to meet the whims or desires of humans. Now, if only he could find someone who had enough of a backbone to be capable of speech in his presence, yet not too much, so as to preserve the fragile tethers on the scientist’s temper…

 

Another crackling giggle burst out of his mouth as a plan slotted suddenly into place, and near-invisible sparks of energy began to dance around his claws. A trap –non-lethal, of course… or at least, it would initially be non-lethal– for the next human unfortunate enough to come close enough; a warping zone of sorts, designed to relocate those caught in his web to wherever he chose –such as the top of a pylon-like structure that towered high above the buildings forming the alleyway.

 

When he was done, the only hint there was anything different about the space just beyond the alley mouth was a slight visual distortion –a greenish ripple, like an emerald-tinted mirage– and with that completed, he teleported up to wait for his trap to be sprung.

 

It didn’t take long, either; in less than ten minutes, Alhazred was joined on his perch by an amusingly-shocked human male. Inspecting and cataloguing his hostage’s appearance only took him another minute.

 

Short, rotund, and probably considered to be well-dressed. A large, sharp nose that looked so astonishingly like a beak that the masked scientist paused to gauge the level of the man’s humanity for a few seconds, before returning to the task at hand. For some reason, the bottom of a glass bottle had been wedged into his left eye socket… that actually coaxed a quiet cackle, which in turn drew the hostage’s attention away from his abrupt abduction.

 

“What the bloody ‘ell is goin’ on?!” the human rasped out with a snarl. Interesting, damaged vocal cords? He filed that away for potential later perusal, along with the apparent lack of reservations on seeing his captor.

 

Alhazred felt like he could grant the man some mock-appreciation for his mettle. However, he had business to attend to, and –keeping his voice as controlled as possible– he answered with, “You’ve clearly been abducted; if you want to be released, you’ll answer a few questions for me…” In the dim light of the evening, Alhazred knew that his eyes would seem to glow, which almost always helped to… ‘persuade’… humans to cooperate with him, to a point.

 

The short man in front of him was apparently no different. “You’ve got some nerve… How the fuck do you expect me to answer any of your bloody questions, if you don’t fucking well ask them?”

 

He could handle some irritation-fuelled snappishness. “Firstly, who are you?”

 

“Bloody twat… The name’s Oswald Cobblepot, and you?” he finished in a biting tone, his eyebrows lowering as best as they could around his glass eyepiece.

 

“You can call me Alhazred, as I’m sure you’d have no comprehension of my title.” Meet snide defensiveness with almost-sugar-sweet derision… his favourite. “Next is, of course, where is this?”

 

Cobblepot’s mouth started to curl downwards, and Alhazred’s claws twitched as if by reflex. “This city? It’s Gotham.” A snort reached the scientist’s ears. “You been living under a bloomin’ rock? All you have to do is look over at that Wayne Enterprises eyesore of a skyscraper to tell where you are.” Here, he gestured vaguely at a large glass-sided building that Alhazred honestly hadn’t even noticed before.

 

Narrowing his eyes further, he pressed onwards with the interrogation. “Who holds the greatest sway in this city?” If he knew who was in charge –possibly whoever owned that ‘skyscraper’– then he could use them, should the need arise… or the whim, if push came to shove.

 

“That’s an easy one; me.”

 

There was such confidence in the human’s voice and posture, that he found himself feeling a little amused by him. Perhaps he wouldn’t kill this one just yet; perhaps he could use him, instead. Information, potential entertainment, and –at the end of the road– scientific plaything. “I see. Rather fortuitous for me, then. Now, my next question is… do you know of Falgaia?”

 

“No.” Cobblepot replied, adding ‘what is it’ after a moment’s thought.

 

His fangs ground against each other for a few seconds, before he could put together any sort of response. “It’s the name of the place I came from. Hardly important right now, however.” Alhazred paused to recompose himself fully –don’t go killing a tool before you use it. “Have you seen a green-haired clown?”

 

Now it was the human’s turn to level him with an appraising stare, his lips pulling back in a snarl that no doubt had sent many other humans into a cold sweat. “What business do you have with the clown?”

 

The scientist blinked –even his ever-aching-to-twitch claws fell still– and didn’t answer for a full minute. Had he missed something? He hated that. “I’m going to plunge my claws into his neck and make him wish he was never born…” was the hissed reply he gave, at long last.

 

Apparently, that suited Cobblepot just fine, as a dark smirk lifted the corners of his mouth at the same time as a quiet chuckle rasped its way out of his throat. “Sounds good to me. I ain’t seen him for a while, but the back rooms of the Iceberg Lounge are open to you, if you want another lot of hands. I own the place, after all.”

 

Work with a human…? What a novel idea. He’d never done such a thing, mostly due to the fact that no humans had ever proposed it. Alhazred noted the revelation of the words he got from his previous attempt, even as he turned the man’s subtle proposal over in his mind. Should he, though? Or would it wear down on his nerves too much? “So that’s what he was referring to… how nice to know. Well, I’m not above working alongside someone with similar interests, especially when there’s something to sweeten the deal.” If he was going to lower himself to cooperate with his hostage, he was going to get something tangible out of it.

 

“Huh. Like what?” he asked with an avian tilt to his head, his entire body taking on the demeanour of a businessman –good, Alhazred could handle that.

 

“I am a scientist, dealing primarily in… biological and chemical enhancements, and –really– whatever else strikes my fancy.” Behind his mask, his face split into a wide grin, while his tail started to sway languidly. “I suppose you could get something out of that, as well, if my subjects are affiliated with you.” It was only with intense self-control that Alhazred was able to keep from breaking out into fits of raucous cackles, as he watched the cogs start to turn in Cobblepot’s mind; the fool was actually considering it, he actually thought there’d be anything left of them when the scientist was done!

 

With a slight narrowing of his eyes, Cobblepot gave a small nod. “That sounds like something I could get a lot of use out of… you scratch my back, I scratch yours, eh?” Now, the white-robed scientist did giggle, which the short man obviously took as an affirmation. “All right, then. Just one thing…”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Don’t go fucking abducting me again, you bloody wanker.”

 

Alhazred’s whole body shook with mirth. “Very well. Oh, and I have one more question,” he paused, his eyes flicking down to the streets below them. It was something he’d noticed shortly after realising he’d been relocated so thoroughly… “Do you know what the energy running beneath the city is?”

 

Puzzled, Cobblepot blinked a few times. “Under Gotham? No clue… but I can get some o’ my boys on finding a way to figure that out.”

 

He couldn’t help himself, really. Continuing to release his characteristic laughter, Alhazred found himself almost purring his next words. “Much appreciated… I think we might just be able to make this work –good manpower is always a useful thing, after all. Let me get you down from here, then.”

 

His hostage let out a bark of wry laughter, himself. “About bloody time.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**~*~|A-Wandering He Will Go|~*~**

 

Zet grinned down at the floor below him. Discovering the plethora of gargoyles strewn about the asylum had been quite a good distraction for him –it kept the guards and orderlies guessing, too– and he revelled in the idea that he now knew of many, many vantage points for him to sit –or lay, if he so chose– whenever the whim struck him. The verdanet kept the lines of his body snug to the stone structure, the knuckles of one hand stuffed between his teeth to muffle his snickers.

 

They were running around like headless chickens.

 

On the way back from his latest chat with Doctor Toadstool, Pastamop had seen fit to not pay that much attention to whether or not Zet was following him –a lack of awareness that the cat-eyed youth took full advantage of. Once he saw the decorations lining the upper parts of the walls, all it took was a good leap and a swing of his legs to get him on top of one. Poor Pastamop had no clue, and only seemed to notice he was alone after another couple of minutes; Zet followed using the oh-so-handily-placed perches, grinning madly and dark icy-hot emotions practically forgotten.

 

Now, however, the urge to explore his… was it a prison? Oh well, whatever it was, he wanted to know all the ins and outs… all the perches and nooks and crannies –or was it crooks and grannies?– of the entire place. Before, he’d had no interest, but things were different now. Crane had offered him information, and Zet still had to find his treasure again…

 

…And he also had not-friends in both Crane and Jervis, too, but that was beside the point, really. Really… and he honestly – _oh, yes, ‘honestly’_ – believed that.

 

Getting back on topic with a small shake of his head, Zet shifted his weight and made a leap for another of the gargoyles, this one right over a door. No-one was directly below him, so he dropped as softly as he could, landing in a crouch –definitely not a catlike one, damnit, because he wasn’t a cat, no matter what Jervis said– and zipping through the door. As he expected, it lead outside… and he wasted no time in making a dash for the railing opposite him, hopping over it to land in another –perfect, if he did say so himself– crouch, then hurried over to the nearby boathouse to hide in.

 

There were quite a few people moving about, wearing the light slightly-greenish grey orderly uniform, the charcoal-grey of a guard, or the orange of an inmate… even a couple of white-garbed doctors could be seen walking from one building to another with purposeful strides.

 

He paused for a bit, watching these comings and goings curiously. The presence of doctors suggested that the place was some kind of hospital… but as far as he knew, hospitals didn’t have cells for their patients. Or guards, for that matter. Crane’s comment about being a ‘doctor of the mind’ had confused the verdanet quite a bit; what did that even entail, how did a mind get sick or well, and how did that connect with the prison-like environment…? He grimaced, already feeling his mind start to go in circles.

 

_You’re not someone who can puzzle this out. It’s too complicated for you… give up._

 

Zet grit his teeth, refusing to grace that thought with a response. Regardless, he’d spent enough time in the one spot, and nonchalantly sprang out from his little niche to wander closer to the actual coastline. It was less rocky than his –admittedly rather fuzzy– memory suggested; crags and spires piercing the water’s surface like the teeth of a deep-sea fish featured rather prominently when he tried to recall his arrival, but the waters by the pier were largely undisturbed by such things… there was even a lighthouse just a bit further out, too. Across the water, he could see another landmass, maybe two or more, cluttered rather spectacularly by massive buildings and lit up like nothing he’d ever seen. All of a sudden, Zet was hit with the sensation of the world falling out from under his feet, making him snap his eyes down to check –yes, it was still solid ground.

 

Was this what it felt like to be utterly lost?

 

_So pathetic… just let go. Let yourself fall, let yourself lose what you had, it wasn’t that important anyway… Take what’s in front of you instead, and sculpt it into something glorious… something deadly…_

 

“Not. Helping.” Zet hissed back, before biting down hard on his lower lip, using the spike of discomfort to force himself back to stark reality. A full-body shake later, and the verdanet was able to square his shoulders against his moment of weakness. “Right, time to get on with it…” The door he’d come through burst open to reveal a rather exasperated-looking Pastamop, and Zet found a grin making its way back onto his face. “Definitely time to.”

 

It was simple enough to build up speed, passing by the glowing sign spelling out ‘Medical’ with a slight sneer on his face, weaving easily between uniformed bodies even as Pasta’s voice rose in his wake. On a whim, Zet spun on the spot –slowing only slightly, but managing to avoid any embarrassing falls or collisions– and waved at the man who had become his favourite guard, letting out a peal of laughter before turning back around and pouring more energy into just moving.

 

At a fork in the path, he turned left, up the slope and past what appeared to be a watchtower, heading to the right when presented with the choice again. He skidded to a halt to avoid barrelling into the door at the top of the hill, gnawing on his lower lip for a few seconds while he waited… would it open, or was it locked? Slower than he’d have liked –his heart was pumping adrenaline through his system and it felt so damned good– the bars keeping it closed slid away to allow the doors to slide apart.

 

“Open, says-a-me…” Grinning toothily, Zet took in the sight of the alley-like passage opened up to him –it was empty of anyone else– for a moment then loped up the incline, pausing again at the top. Now there were two doors, one like the one he’d just gone through and one like… a regular, boring, old door. He went to the barred one; weird doors led to more interesting things, in the verdanet’s experience. A pleased hum issued forth from his throat as it, too, opened.

 

Another section of the island lay beyond the barrier, and Zet once again saw many bodies moving through the space. He cast a quick glance behind him –had Pastamop followed him this far, or had he fallen behind?– then started to make his way through this new area. More watchtowers loomed overhead, although curiosity tugged at Zet’s mind when he noticed what appeared to be ruins –of all things in a ‘hospital’ area, ruins?– off to one side. He shook his head; later, he could deal with investigating it later.

 

To the other side –actually right next to him– was another building… Its roof was lined with ominous-looking spikes, but what caught his attention the most was what appeared to be gigantic chimney stacks on the roof that towered high above everything else. Zet grimaced. That building did not look friendly, and he’d do his best to stay completely outside of it. As such, while happily ignoring the looks he was getting from those he passed by, the gold-eyed youth loped towards the door he could see on the opposite side to where he’d entered.

 

Pause again to let the door open, and… yet another passageway. This time, it was bisected by a sort of bridge –Zet wouldn’t question their logic, but why was there a bridge that looked like it went nowhere and crossed nothing?– which he strode under, making his way to the door at the other side. “How many is that, now… six, I think,” he muttered, more to fill the quiet than anything else. As he exited, Zet closed his eyes and tried to map out where he’d travelled so far. It felt like he’d almost circled the island, but without knowing its actual layout, he couldn’t be sure. He’d definitely gone in more of a circle than a straight line… that much was for certain. He shrugged, letting the question fade into the background of his mind, and opened his eyes again.

 

Two watchtowers stood, almost as if to messily-flank the doorway, and –for lack of a better term– a large mansion –with… was that two clock-towers? Greedy– that stood proud and slightly-foreboding on the far side of the area. He moved down the path, taking the first turn to the left that he saw –turning completely away from the mansion and instead towards a building that had glass domes in its roof. That one looked much more interesting, after all.

 

Above the door, a bronze sign spelled out ‘welcome to botanical gardens’, prompting a quick head-tilt and blink. “Gardens? They have a garden in a hospital-prison-asylum-thingy?”

 

_Probably where they grow all their medicinal plants, idiot. Try to think for once._

 

“Doesn’t ‘botanical’ refer to something else…? Like, ‘pretty plants’?”

 

_That’s not how it works._

 

Zet huffed –partially to force his breathing back to something akin to a normal rate– before climbing the rest of the steps up to the gardens’ door and slipping through.

 

**~*~|Missing Friends|~*~**

 

Batman wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he climbed out of the Batmobile. How often had he had a ‘guest’ in the Batcave? He’d thought the location was completely secure, and yet… It had been breached, by someone who claimed to have simply entered as if from thin air. A deep frown carved its way onto his face. Making his way through the cave towards where he could see Alfred keeping a stoic eye on the source of his recent unease, he took the time to size the stranger up as best as he could.

 

The vivid blue hair had initially thrown the vigilante for a bit of a loop, when he saw him standing several paces behind Alfred; the odd mix of gold, brown, and red that made up the stranger’s eyes had a similar effect. However, putting those details aside, this ‘Rudy’ had a fairly unassuming appearance; if it weren’t for his slightly-outdated choice of clothing –a red denim vest over a tattered t-shirt, jeans tucked into boots… all of which could admittedly be explained away as influence from more rural areas of the country– he could have passed for a regular fifteen-year-old, and never caused Batman to give him a second glance.

 

The teenager was clearly nervous, although he hid it well under near-perfect stillness, only his eyes –flicking between the Bat and his butler– giving anything away. As soon as Batman was close enough to speak without raising his voice or using the cave’s natural acoustics, he stopped and levelled a hard blue gaze at his ‘visitor’. “I want to hear it again… How did you get in here?”

 

“I found myself on that platform, over there,” the teenager pointed to the same spot he did last time, “only a second or so after throwing more wood onto our campfire.”

 

It was the same story, just slightly more detailed. Batman gave a short nod. “What will I be looking for, when I search for those friends of yours?” It was best to keep to the simple questions, until he had a better understanding of what went on in his head. As he spoke, the black-garbed vigilante strode over to the Batcomputer and opened up a brand new file.

 

“Well… Cecilia has short blonde hair and green eyes, and is a bit taller than I am. Zakk is also blond, taller again, with light brown eyes. His hair is quite long, too.” Rudy looked up at the cave ceiling, his brow furrowing in thought. “I… can’t be sure they’d be wearing the same things I last saw them in, so there’d be little reason to cover that…” Now, Rudy wore a slight grimace. “How common a sight are swords, here?”

 

Batman paused. That was definitely worth noting… “Not very. Most bladed weapons in the city are knives, and it’s hardly a common sight for a law-abiding citizen to be carrying one.”

 

“Then that’s another thing. Zakk wouldn’t think to strictly hide it… not at first, anyway.”

 

“How likely are they to draw attention to themselves, otherwise? It might help with tracking them down.” To the side, he saw Alfred leave the cave –possibly to fetch refreshments, as he usually brought them down when Bruce returned from his crime-fighting ventures. The teenager gave no indication he noticed.

 

Rudy was impressively-quiet as he moved closer, stopping an arm’s-length away from anything else. Perhaps there was some validity in his claims, earlier. “…Very, at least in his case. I don’t think Cecilia would aim to draw too much attention, but… we’ve never been displaced, not like this.” An apologetic look manifested on the teen’s face. “I’m sorry about… breaking in, and about using that without permission. I just…”

 

“You were lost, and no-one was down here to tell you otherwise.” Batman finished for him. He had to admit, if the azuret was a threat, he was also a very good actor. After a few more keystrokes –he was deliberately keeping the vocal controls of the Batcomputer restricted to those who should already know, as much as possible– the vigilante turned to face his ‘guest’. “Now, are you ready for my first test?”

 

He didn’t perk up, but he did straighten, nodding with an odd air of solemnity. “Without this, correct?” Rudy unbuckled the holster from his belt, then he hesitated for a moment before holding it and the weapon still sitting snugly in the leather out for Batman to take.

 

“Yes. I want to see what you can do, without a gun.”

 

“…Understood.”

 

**~*~|Green|~*~**

 

The atmosphere inside the gardens was… almost like an entirely different world, again. Zet unconsciously shifted his weight onto his toes as he moved deeper into the building, past what appeared to be some kind of currently-deactivated electric barrier, keeping his steps light and quiet. The whole place was so… green… and not the toxic green that his uncle’s laboratory was. Plants he couldn’t identify spilled across the stone tiles and out of the raised flowerbeds that lined most of the walls.

 

He smiled. Now this, this right here, was kind of nice. It was much more peaceful than the majority of the asylum, and he could imagine most people –staff or not– would feel much more relaxed than they did in the colourless hallways he’d seen elsewhere.

 

_It would be just your luck if these plants are poisonous to you._

 

That comment almost made him trip over his own feet, spluttering indignantly. “The fuck?” Once his balance was properly regained, he growled. “You really need to work on your conversational skills, y’know…”

 

_You’d be so bored if there was complete silence, though… wouldn’t you?_

 

A flicker of mirth that wasn’t his own tickled at the back of his mind, but Zet pushed back against it. “I’d live if you shut up… That would be a type of silence I think I could handle.” He took the chance to look around the second room of the gardens. It was big, with multiple elevations, gargoyles for perching, a large and seemingly-broken water fountain in the centre, and at least two doors leading off in different directions. Zet tensed his legs, pouncing at the wall and kicking off again to make a grab at the gargoyle over the door he’d come through. In mere seconds, he’d settled himself on the stone projection, his back against the wall, and one leg dangling off to the side and swinging lazily.

 

_Don’t be ridiculous… You know very well that you couldn’t handle even ten minutes of true silence… What better way to avoid that than to listen?_

 

“Shut up, I mean it. I’m trying to enjoy the atmosphere.” Sticking out his tongue may not have made any difference, but he did it anyway. It was getting easier to imagine those interjections to be coming from somewhere other than inside his head, enough so that he had a fairly concrete idea as to where to look when he wanted to address it directly. Right now, it was on the gargoyle to his left, posed similarly to him. “Just because I hate actual silence, doesn’t mean I want you yammering on, at all times. Or ever, really.”

 

_You’d miss it, if you couldn’t hear it._

 

“…No, I’d wonder what you were up to, but I wouldn’t miss it.”

 

_Familiarity, you fool… It’s a powerful thing._

 

Zet snorted. Like there was anything that could make him actually miss his brain-worm… Actually, that was a very good description, now that he thought about it. A snicker escaped him, only to be cut short by a new voice, sing-songing up at him…

 

“Well, well, well. I don’t know whether to be honoured, or irritated. Trying to copy me, are you~?”

 

He shifted to look down at the speaker, and blinked. Green hair… on a human? White skin? It had to be some kind of paint or whatever-it-was-that-human-women-wore-to-make-them-look-so-weird-sometimes –it was called ‘make up’, wasn’t it? The tall and rather skinny man met Zet’s gaze with a tilted head and an impossibly-wide smile, his body held in a way that the cat-eyed youth immediately associated with a snake –deceptively calm and lazy, but ready to strike with lightning-fast precision. Like most in the asylum who had any real trace of interest for him, the older-looking verdanet wore the orange inmate’s uniform… and looked completely out-of-place in it.

 

“Don’t tell me –you’re struck speechless. I know~! I am one of the big names around here, after all,” the man continued, his smile widening into a face-splitting grin, even as his eyebrows lowered. “But don’t leave me hanging, newbie.”

 

“Who the heck are you?” he shot back before he could be talked at further. “How could I copy you, if I never heard of you before?”

 

A cackle was his initial reply, although Zet didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes narrowed. “Call me Joker~! Everybody else does –unless it’s something much, much, much, much, much more insulting.” Gesturing to his chest in as theatrical a manner as Zet had ever seen –including himself, which he wasn’t quite sure what to make of– ‘Joker’ dipped his torso in a deep bow. “Now, you haven’t answered my question, you naughty boy.”

 

_Kill him._

 

With a grimace and a quick glare to his left, Zet sighed. “I’m not copying you. How would you even think that, anyways?”

 

“Why, because of that scalpful of grass, of course.”

 

“It’s my hair, asshole,” he growled, shifting once again so that he was crouching on the gargoyle rather than sitting on it. “Another weird name to add to the growing list, though, huh? Mine’s Zet, now you can call me something other than ‘copycat’.”

 

Joker hummed, then bared his teeth in another grin. “So, what are you doing up there, Zetty-bird?”

 

He had to grip the stone tighter to keep from falling off of his perch in a reflexive jolt. “That makes even less sense than ‘Cheshire Cat’!” he blurted out, earning himself more laughter from the man below him. “I’m pe--… It’s a good vantage point, and I like being high up.” He wasn’t going to validate the new, stupid, nickname by admitting he was perching. Nope. Never, ever, ever. “Also, I’m waiting to see if any of the people who work in this place catch up to me; I’m kinda playing tag with them, at the moment.”

 

“Oh, so you’ve already met the Hatter, hm?” So it was particularly common for Jervis to give weird nicknames, not just an occasional thing? Okay, he could deal with that, to a point. The other verdanet heaved a sigh. “But, you’re playing tag? I feel somewhat left out~! Also, why wasn’t I first in line to welcome you to my asylum?”

 

_His? Then why does he wear that uniform?_

 

For once, Zet found himself agreeing completely. “I thought Fruit Bowl owned it…”

 

Joker blinked, his grin falling from his face to make room for a bewildered look for all of a few seconds before he doubled over, holding his stomach and laughing maniacally. “Just who’s that supposed to be~?” he forced out between his cackles.

 

“Uhm… Sharp? He said his name was Sharp.”

 

Shoulders still shaking, Joker brought his mirth under some form of control and shook his head. “Oh, no, no, no… Sharpie doesn’t own the place; I bet even Bats would agree with that. We,” he pointed to himself and Zet, then spread his arms wide, “own it. It’s a regular home away from home~!”

 

_Those imprisoned here are the ones who own it…? How ridiculous._

 

“Sounds a bit weird to me, but whatever you say…” Zet offered a shrug while rearranging his limbs to allow him to lounge on the gargoyle once more.

 

Another snicker. “Good choice, Zetty-bird.” Joker paused, then let out a loud whine. “Come down from there, I’m getting a crick in the neck!” There was no way the gold-eyed verdanet was going to do that… not while the other’s slightly-toxic-looking green eyes were still narrowed at him. Of course, his apparently-shifting moods also left Zet feeling a bit off-kilter; experience had taught him to keep his distance from people that couldn’t decide whether to be dangerous or pleasant for longer than a few minutes.

 

“I don’t really care…” he trailed off as an idea started to form. If this ‘Joker’ was as famous and important as he was claiming, then perhaps he would know where to find it. “Hey, do you know where Crane is?” That… wasn’t quite what he’d intended to ask, but it was still a prudent question. “Or Hatter, for that matter?” Nor was that, and he hadn’t meant to rhyme. “Or where they keep confiscated stuff?” That was more like it.

 

“Scary? You want to know where Scarecrow is?” he grinned, despite his voice taking on a note of shock. “Now, that… is a surprise. ‘Fraid I don’t know where any of those are, mini-me…”

 

“Mi--… ‘mini-me’?!”

 

Okay, Joker was definitely someone to stay away from, and Zet didn’t even wait to hear his response; he teleported away from his perch –he’d deal with any fallout from the white-skinned man later– and rematerialized on the roof of the garden, just above the entrance. Time to people-watch, and probably hold seemingly-to-others one-sided conversations.

 

What fun.

 

**~*~|Straw Cats and Iron Crows|~*~**

 

In truth, there wasn’t much that could really shock Jonathan anymore. He’d seen people fall deep into the traps of their own minds, drooling and screaming and convulsing; he’d seen a man whose blood ran colder than ice, and who ultimately needed to wear a freezer just to stay alive; he’d seen a woman coax men so overcome by lust that they rushed to their deaths at the jaws of giant carnivorous plants with smiles on their faces; he’d seen a man who survived having half of his body melted into a grotesque mockery, his mind following suit and breaking in two; he’d seen a bright and promising woman give in to the seductive pull of what could be called the darkest of minds… he’d even seen a man so obsessed that he conjured elaborate schemes, all the while begging and pining to be caught, to be stopped by the man he was trying to kill.

 

Yes, Jonathan Crane had seen many strange things… but all of that experience seemed to dissolve as he stared at the scene in front of him.

 

One of Arkham’s guards –he was fairly certain his name was Burlow– was attempting to convince the newest resident of the asylum to unhook his legs from the gardens’ sign. Zet, for his part, seemed perfectly comfortable hanging upside-down, and was countering each argument with descriptions of… berries, apparently.

 

_Hey, Jonny-boy, it is okay to laugh, y’know._

 

 _‘Yes, thank you, I didn’t already know that,’_ he retorted with a smirk, moving closer to the spectacle to get a better view. The brunet didn’t say anything, half-heartedly wishing that the guard would notice his presence before the boy did… and give him a nice show of startling like an insect. The way that the young verdanet was switching between talking about fruit and shooting more snappish comments at a spot to his right suggested that he might just get it, too.

 

“I already told you, I’m not going to do that! Stop suggesting it.” Zet’s most recent snarl was accompanied by him pulling himself up and rearranging his limbs to perch on top of the sign. “But seriously, you guys should try to find some Mega Berry seeds, it’d make recoveries in your medical area a lot less lengthy if you could grow ‘em. Not to mention that people like money, and you could sell them for a lot… or I think you could, I kinda suck at anything to do with shopping.” The cat-eyed boy paused, cocking his head to one side. “No, no. They aren’t red because someone bled on them. Idiot… no, you are!”

 

 _Aw, he’s having a chat with an imaginary friend~…_ Scarecrow cooed, following it with a snicker, and Jonathan sent his counterpart an image of being hit over the head with a large book or three.

 

_‘According to some, that’s what you are.’_

 

Hissing at him, the Scarecrow shot back. _But you know better, right Jonny?_

 

Smirking wider, he gave a tiny nod. He was far too old for a mere ‘imaginary friend’, really. That, and it was always better not to rile his alter-ego too much before he was let out to play; the headaches were never worth it.

 

“Look, kiddo, you’re not making a whole lot of sense to me. Could you just get down from there? You might break it or hurt yourself…” the guard urged, raising a hand as if to run it through his hair before remembering that he was wearing a helmet and letting it drop back to his side. “Just… Tell ya what, you hungry again, yet? It’s about dinnertime.”

 

That got the boy’s attention. He grinned and nodded, hopping down from his perch and stretching. “Yup, very. Say, is meat on the menu, again?” Rather expected, given his dentition, Jonathan noted. Zet’s eyes wandered past the guard to meet the doctor’s steady blue gaze, and he actually bounced on the balls of his feet; bounced… as in, he was happy to see him. Scarecrow’s cackles nearly drowned out what he said next. “Crane! Been wondering where you were.”

 

As anticipated, the guard –and yes, it was Mister Burlow, now that he had a clearer look– jumped, although not as spectacularly as he’d hoped for, and turned to include the still-smirking brunet in his range of vision. “Oh, right. Been there long, Crane?” he asked, scrambling to recompose himself. Jonathan would give him a break –normally such cracks were like a beacon to him, he couldn’t help but to dig at them and unravel the unfortunate individual to their barest of selves– this time… something that didn’t escape the man’s notice, judging from the slightly-narrowed eyes. “Guess you might as well come along, too.”

 

“Much obliged, and no, not long at all,” he replied smoothly. Turning to Zet, he offered a smile. “You sound as if you’ve missed me.”

 

The boy snorted, a toothy smirk in place. “Nah, well, not especially. Been having some… interesting chats with other people, and played a game, too.” Here, he threw an unapologetic grin to their escort, who simply sighed quietly and shook his head while motioning for them to start walking. “Note to self: try to play tag with more people, next time.”

 

“Oh, no. No. Don’t play tag.” Mister Burlow groaned. “You had me running all over Arkham, kid.”

 

“I spent most of the time on the roof, back there.” Zet snickered, jerking his head back to indicate the gardens. “It’s not my fault if you couldn’t find me. Not like I was being that quiet, either.”

 

“Not from what I saw.” Jonathan interjected, allowing his amusement to show clearly in his tone. He let out a low hum when he noticed just how tense the guard’s shoulders had gotten. “So, where have they put you, Zet?”

 

“Uhm, for real? Dunno.”

 

Mister Burlow answered. “The higher-ups’ve put you in Solitary, and there’s still no word of that being different now. So, I gotta put you back there, when it’s lockdown time.”

 

A loud hiss came from the boy’s mouth. “I already said, I ain’t going along with that. Is Fruit Bowl an idiot, or something? You put me in those cells, I’ll just get out and find somewhere else to go.” Now that was an extremely interesting piece of information… the doctor fought to keep his expression level, but he couldn’t resist turning his head to pin Zet with a curious stare. “There’s nothing you guys can do about it, either.”

 

Raising his hands in a show of both exasperation and surrender, the guard shook his head. “I’m just going to do my job, kiddo. What happens after you’re in there, as long as I don’t see it, I can’t be held responsible… and I can’t believe I’m even saying that.”

 

“Don’t worry, Mister Burlow, I’ll keep it to myself.” Jonathan said, employing the tone he’d once used with his patients. “In fact, when Zet’s penance period is over… I noticed that one of the cells near my own is empty, of late.” It was unlikely that his offer would be taken, but it was worth a try. If nothing else, it earned him a beaming grin from the object of his most recent fascination, and a few confused blinks from the grey-clad member of the little group.

 

In fact, if nothing else, that might just have been the final piece of the puzzle of how to unravel Zet’s brain, clicking into place. Now, all that was left was to wait… besides, he now knew where to find the boy at night, if the verdanet just waited before putting into motion whatever escape plan he had…

 

_Hickory dickory dock, Jonny-boy…_

 


	8. Chapter 8

**~*~|Well-laid Plans|~*~**

 

Dinner was in the same large lounge that Zet had been led into after leaving the medical building, and to say that the green-haired youth stuck to Crane’s side like an uncertain puppy –again, and the comparison still made him grimace– was putting it rather mildly. The pair had taken seats at one of the tables nearest to a window, which had subsequently grown a large gap between them and everyone else, despite having been nearly-full before their arrival.

 

A few orderlies were pushing trollies laden with trays of food –oh, good, it actually looked edible– around the room, handing them out to any who hadn’t yet gotten one… and despite how tempting it was to start to throw the contents of his tray at the other occupants of the room –except Crane, for now anyway– Zet decided to actually give the mass-produced meal a chance.

 

Beside him, the blue-eyed doctor picked at the sauced-up noodles and bits of meat and traces of various vegetables. “Good to see you’re eating, considering how long you were in Medical.” Crane said in a conversational tone.

 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, they were just being paranoid. I heal quickly, and they didn’t want to believe their eyes…” He paused to scoop some of his own noodles up, chew, and swallow. “There’s not much I can’t recover from, so… yah. Huh, this isn’t actually that bad.”

 

“Really?” Feeling the brunet’s gaze boring into the side of his head, Zet offered nothing more than a nod while shovelling a much larger –maybe a bit too large, but at least he didn’t choke on it– portion into his mouth. “Even organs, hm? After all, I did see at least part of that injury of yours… a regular human would have died not long after receiving it, at most.”

 

Chew, chew, swallow –swallow, Zet!– then respond. “Even organs. It was worse when I originally arrived; I think I kinda gave them a bit of a shock… ol’ Fruit Bowl sure seemed a bit sick when he tried talking to me on that first day –not that he listened to anything I said, he seemed to think I was speaking some weirdo language that made no sense.” He let out a small snicker. “Declared I was ‘not conscious enough to make a lick of sense’ and stormed out… wait, what’s a ‘lick of sense’, anyways?”

 

“A phrase, is all.” Crane answered smoothly with a tiny shrug. “It basically means ‘any sense’.”

 

Golden eyes suddenly zeroed-in on the brunet’s upper torso. “By the way, how’s your injury going? Wasn’t your arm…?”

 

As if to prove a point, Crane lifted the limb that had been part of the reason he’d had the chance to meet Zet in the first place and rotated the shoulder, wincing only slightly as he did so. Zet let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Good, the wound hadn’t been too serious, then… unless the doctor also had regenerative capabilities, or the medical staff were better than he’d given them credit for… and he was getting off-topic. Again.

 

“Good to know,” the verdanet declared with a sharp nod, before glancing down at Crane’s tray and letting out a huff. “You need to eat, too… You’re almost skinnier than me.”

 

“ _Being skinny is useful, though_.”

 

There it was again, a slightly-different tone that only showed up when Crane was… bristlier than usual. Not literally, but his presence was. It wasn’t the ‘go away’ type of bristly either, more ‘having fun no matter what anyone else thinks’, which –if Zet really thought about it– wasn’t necessarily best-described as being bristly, in the first place… The coil of tension that seemed so integral to Crane’s presence also loosened slightly when he used that tone. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, so –just like he did when he noticed it before– he pushed the questions to the back of his mind.

 

Instead, Zet decided to continue the conversation… with the question that he really wanted to ask. “You know heaps about this place –more than you really let on, I think– so… do you know where they keep confiscated belongings?”

 

Crane blinked slowly, fork poised halfway to his mouth. “…Oh, that scarf of yours?” he asked at last, eying Zet’s barer-than-comfortable neck with a sort of clinical detachment, pausing slightly at the metal straps around it. “I’d honestly wondered how long it would take them to try to take it away from you. To answer your question, however, yes I do.”

 

The verdanet perked up, fighting to keep from leaning too much into the doctor’s personal space. “And?”

 

“And it would be best if you’re taken there, which I can do, but not until after lights-out. There will be too much security to get through while everyone’s still up and about.” Crane ate his forkful, frowning slightly. “Mister Burlow said that you’ll be returning to Solitary… When you do, stay in your cell and wait for me; I’ll need to gather a few things of my own in preparation, first, then I’ll be able to help you get it back.”

 

He grimaced. Stay in the cell? That… wouldn’t be fun at all. Nope, no fun to be had in a tiny space of three walls and one set of bars. “…Okay. I’ll try not to go stir-crazy while I wait.” The smile Crane gave him in response made a shiver run down Zet’s spine.

 

Never before had the cat-eyed youth wished his luck wasn’t perpetually-terrible…

 

**~*~|Nocturnal|~*~**

 

That night, as Jonathan Crane slipped through the darkened corridors of the penitentiary –a small bag of several capped syringes and fist-sized canisters filled with liquid fear toxin secured to the belt of his uniform– he basked in the anticipation and eagerness that filled his body. It really had been far too long since he’d managed to study a new subject, let alone one that had the potential to survive multiple large doses, and the brunet found himself having to nearly physically-restrain himself from moving too quickly or recklessly… if any Arkham guards suspected that the Scarecrow was out and about after lights-out, the entire place would go into lockdown.

 

So, he was forced to use every ounce of knowledge he possessed about the blind spots of the cameras, the maze of air ducts throughout the building, the patrol path of the abysmally-few guards between the doctor and his patient. The thought brought a note of wry humour into his smirk, and –not for the first time– Jonathan regretted no longer being employed at the very institute he bounced in and out of on a reasonably regular basis.

 

Honestly, if Warden Sharp wanted to keep the standards of security high, he really needed to hire more personnel.

 

When he reached his destination, Jonathan paused to throw a searching glance at the window of the guardroom in the centre of the area. If there was actually anyone there –which there really should be, considering there was currently a resident in the cellblock– then he’d need to deal with them first, before paying Zet a visit. Speaking of the boy, it seemed that he’d decided to listen and had remained in his cell… temporarily, at least, and was muttering away in what sounded like the same language he’d first heard come out of the fanged mouth.

 

He could see some movement through the glass, even from his cramped air vent vantage point, which cemented his next move. With a level of stealthy care that might even have left the Batman grudgingly-impressed, the doctor moved backwards down the duct until he reached an intersection, and took a different branch. In what seemed like no time at all, Jonathan had circled around the room and slid to the floor directly opposite the guardroom door, which opened at his approach as he fished out one of the only prefilled needles he had with him.

 

 _They’re not even trying, are they?_ The Scarecrow snickered, louder than usual in its near-rabid eagerness.

 

Jonathan wasted no time in striding over to the seated guard in their slowly-swivelling chair and sinking the syringe into their neck; the sedative would do its job quickly, leaving him free to turn Solitary into his domain for the night. He took the chance to fill the empty syringes with his toxin, capping them again when he was satisfied with the volume in each. After pushing the guard’s chair out of the way, the brunet doctor turned his attention to the computer instead. Locking the only door in or out only took a few seconds, as did opening the only occupied cell there.

 

_The clock struck one, the mouse ran down, hickory dickory dock~!_

 

All that was left, now, was paying the animal-eyed boy a visit.

 

**~*~|Clinical Trial|~*~**

 

Zet jumped away from the bars when they suddenly slid back into the walls, his previous mutterings –mostly about the state of this one particular loose screw in the wall that had somehow captured his attention upon being put back into the same cell as before– well and truly forgotten. For a moment, he debated whether or not he should just leave, but curiosity niggled at him; why did the ‘door’ open, and who did it? Was it the person who had moved through the wall just a few minutes ago?

 

…And was that person Crane, there to help him like he’d promised?

 

He shook his head. “Stop being so cautious. Of course he’d keep his word, and besides, what’s the worst that could happen, if it’s someone else?” With those words swirling around him like a strange fanfare, the verdanet straightened his back and outright leapt from his cell to the electrified floor panels closer to the centre of the main room –thankfully, they seemed to be off, this time. “Pay the Melchom a coin and it’ll do you half a favour.” Why the fuck did he have to go and say that? It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone, unless they were from the same place he was.

 

Crane’s quiet laughter greeted him when a door –which he somehow didn’t notice before, just standing inconspicuously under the big window set into the central structure– opened to reveal the tall brunet. “Pay a scarecrow a coin, and you’ll get your lost belongings.”

 

Glad the older-looking man didn’t make any particular scene out of his –second– blurted-out random bit of trivia, Zet grinned back at him. “Can I do that without any coins?”

 

“ _You can give me peaches, you can give me pears, you can give me fifty coins, and meet me on the stairs…_ ” Crane drawled lowly, tilting his head to the side with a crooked smirk on his face. The verdanet’s grin faded and was replaced with a furrowed brow and tiny frown. That strange tone, again, and another sing-song… at one of the weirdest times, yet. “ _I’ll give you back your peaches, I’ll give you back your pears, I’ll give you back your coins…_ ” As he spoke, Crane walked closer until he was only an arm’s-length away, his movements seeming… off… in a way that Zet couldn’t quite put his finger on.

 

_Get the information, then kill him._

 

“Kinda wondered how long you’d stay quiet…” Zet mumbled, throwing a quick glare to the side, before returning his attention to… when did Crane get right in his face? Mania glittered in half-lidded blue eyes –Zet suddenly imagined them turning red or orange, just to help separate this demeanour from the more subdued doctor he was more familiar with– and they searched his face for something; he apparently found what he was after, the verdanet noted, as Crane’s smirk widened. “Something up?” he asked, refusing to flinch away or freeze up, even with his internal warning bells starting to ring up an ominous storm.

 

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to make this a mutually-beneficial trade…” the brunet replied, sounding like his normal self again and pulling back just enough to ease Zet’s nerves. “We have all night, so would you be willing to help me with my studies?”

 

Studies… studies didn’t sound too bad, at least when compared to other things. If he’d had less to lose, Zet would never have even stopped to consider it, but… his treasure was on the line, and it was Crane –weird yet cool guy that he was– so… The words came out of his mouth without much further thought. “What kind of studies?”

 

_Fool!_

 

**~*~|Why the Strawman Smiles|~*~**

 

Scarecrow pushed its way back to the forefront as the slightly-hesitant question reached their ears, schooling the expression on Jonathan’s face into a satisfied smile –not too wide, though. “ _It’s based on reactions… Reactions which are key to everything anyone ever does._ ” In response, Zet’s face scrunched up amusingly, prompting a quiet snicker. “ _You don’t even need to do that much…_ ”

 

Once again, the gap between doctor and patient lessened; this time, however, Scarecrow continued moving, taking lazy steps in a tight circle around the boy, keeping their head cocked to the side. Zet clenched his fists and tried to keep the brunet in his range of sight, even twisting on the spot to do so. “That… sounds like it could be either really easy, or really boring. Or both, I guess, and would you stop that?!” The boy grit his teeth in a frustrated snarl, sending Jonathan a half-hearted glare. “You’re gonna make me dizzy.”

 

Slipping into full control while his counterpart was snickering to itself –although the mental image of the boy melded with a spinning top was relatively funny– Jonathan offered a carefully-apologetic smile. His feet still carried him in that languid ring around his patient. “That’s not my intention, I assure you. I just wanted to…” he trailed off, deciding to allow the Scarecrow to finish his statement. It was about time for the fun to start, anyway. “ _…get a better feel for you than before._ ”

 

“A better feel…?”

 

The tentative tone the verdanet used was so close to what would send his alter-ego over the edge that even Jonathan nearly missed their leg lash out at Zet’s ankles; one moment, those cattish eyes were narrowed in uncertainty with a deeply-buried dash of suspicion… the next, they were staring up at him, wide in both shock and an entirely different form of puzzlement. Scarecrow had followed the boy to the floor in that moment of confusion, using their limbs to pin his –bony knees almost jabbing into lean thighs and ankles wrapped over shins and elbows held fast to the floor– while grinning widely, trying and failing to control the cackles that so desperately wanted to escape their mouth. “ _Got you~…_ ”

 

That seemed to shake Zet out of his daze at long last. A low growl started to rumble in the boy’s chest –a vibration Jonathan could feel more and more as it grew in volume– and he bared his teeth, his breath hissing loudly through them at the same time. “Lemme up, Crane.”

 

Unable to help itself, Jonathan’s alter-ego let out a raspy hum. “ _Jonny’s bought the farm, it’s just the Scarecrow here right now._ ” It cocked their head to the side with a sharp jerk. “ _Betcha wondered why everyone’s so…_ ” their voice lowered to a nigh-reverent whisper for the next word, before returning to the Scarecrow’s typical playfulness, “ _scared… of him, didn’t ya?_ ”

 

Zet hadn’t started trying to free himself; his only attempts so far were purely sound-based, and if he’d been in a different mindset, Jonathan would have delighted in picking that peculiarity apart, piece by piece. The growl reached brand-new heights before seemingly being swallowed, and previously-wide eyes narrowed into a gleaming glare… which then changed into a calculating stare that the doctor hadn’t even thought he was capable of. “Who are you? You’re not him… or, not all of him, at least.”

 

“ _Well done~! Not many guess that, so you deserve some special treatment._ ” Scarecrow snickered with another crooked smirk. “ _In fact, it’s even close enough to what I asked. You’re on a roll, kit-kitty-cat. I’m the Scarecrow, the one riding shotgun in the back of Jonny-boy’s head, and I’m the one everyone’s really scared of._ ”

 

 _‘Don’t sell me short.’_ Jonathan deadpanned. Regardless of which of them was the ‘true Master of Fear’, his counterpart would never have had the range or reach that he did without the doctor’s toxin.

 

The boy lowered his chin and let out a soft snort. “So you’re a crow, and he’s a crane. That’s actually kinda funny…”

 

“ _And you’re a cat… how ironic that you’re the one in my claws~._ ”

 

Another loud hiss. “I’m not a cat!” Zet paused, his face turning an odd sort of grey. “…Despite hissing, I mean. Damn it, would you get up, already?” Now, he did start to shift, half-heartedly trying to pull his arms out of their grip. “I don’t really care why people are scared of either of you… it doesn’t mean anything, as far as I’m concerned.”

 

Scarecrow’s expression smoothed out into a blank mask, tensing for a moment before leaning even closer. It released Zet’s elbows, one hand slipping into their bag and the other moving to rest on the verdanet’s throat. All traces of motion bled from the boy’s body –practically falling limp– and his gold eyes widened once more… not quite out of fear, but close enough to it for another crooked smirk to grow on their face. When he felt their fingers close around cool plastic, Jonathan filed the information away to address later. Letting out a pleased hum, his counterpart shushed him and cooed, “ _Rock-a-bye baby, don’t you fear, never mind baby, Scarecrow’s here…_ ”

 

It really was a fascinating sight, watching those slit pupils narrow to near-invisibility then swell until they could almost be called circular. The verdanet’s pulse quickened under their fingers, and Zet licked his lips before pulling a shaky grin onto his face. “What’s with this place and weird ways of speaking, anyway…?” he joked.

 

Their fingers worked the cap off of the needle with practiced ease, flicking it slightly out of habit more than any true concern about trapped air in the vivid orange liquid. “ _Guess it’s something in Gotham’s water,_ ” the answer came without missing a beat, then they buried the needle into Zet’s neck –the thudding vessel just below where their thumb sat was almost begging for it– and emptied Jonathan’s toxin into the boy’s bloodstream.

 

The Scarecrow nearly shivered in anticipation, licking their lips and grinning widely. They watched and felt Zet tense and shudder, breath coming and going in ragged bursts as the fear toxin started to take hold. “Wh--… what’s…?” Barely audible, his voice shook deliciously. “What did you just… do? What was that?”

 

“ _What do you see? What do you hear? What do you… fear~?_ ” Leaning down to whisper the last word into the boy’s ear, Scarecrow tossed the syringe at the wall and moved their hands back to his elbows. With the dosage he’d been given, it was more than possible for the verdanet to resort to violence to avoid whatever his mind could conjure up; restraining him would also contribute to the high the doctor was starting to feel, but that was beside the point for the moment. While Zet remained relatively still, however, the Master of Fear felt confident enough to keep their grip light.

 

A powerful jolt ran through the boy’s body at the same time that his breathing hitched. He tried to push himself into the floor, squeezing his eyes shut and baring his teeth in a grimace. Another moment passed, and Scarecrow had to tighten his grip to keep from being flung off as Zet finally started to squirm like a pile of serpents, an almost-tinny keen filling the cellblock.

 

**~*~|Fever Fright|~*~**

 

If his senses hadn’t been on high alert, the subtle prick of a needle would barely have registered; it couldn’t even begin to compare to his uncle’s claws, after all. Unfortunately, the position that this ‘scarecrow’ had manoeuvred him into had left Zet doing his utmost to notice everything –and yet, at the same time, nothing– all at once.

 

On his back with a hand at his throat and his legs held down by another’s… It made him shudder, just from the myriad of associations he could think of…

 

When his questions garnered no true answer, the cat-eyed youth almost attempted to dematerialise out from under the brunet’s other self, before he noticed the shadows in the room start to move in ways that they had no legitimate right to. The fact that Crane –or ‘Scarecrow’, technically– would have likely been teleported alongside him, simply due to being in direct contact… didn’t even cross his mind.

 

Zet didn’t notice Scarecrow’s hands returning to his arms.

 

_This is…_

 

He did notice the ashes and the scent of wonton destruction that started to waft through the air, swirling in haphazard patterns.

 

_Delicious…_

 

He did notice the sparks that grew first into small flickering fires before blooming into something much more dangerous… a newborn monster of glowing plasma. He did notice Scarecrow’s body turning black and cracking like pottery to release even more hot tongues of flame from within, his eyes burning like hellish cinders. He did notice fire and shadow mesh together into monstrous shapes around the room.

 

_More…_

 

The verdanet shied away from the scene unfolding around him, flattening his body against the floor as much as he could while shutting his eyes – _so childish_ – and baring his teeth – _as if that will help_.

 

_More…!_

 

He had to get away; that was the only thought that had any true coherency anymore, and his body started to writhe. A high-pitched noise rang in Zet’s ears, and he opened his eyes again to search for the source in a flash of curiosity, only to find the brunet’s broken face still leering down at him.

 

_Let go…_

 

A sense of cold began to well up, both in the pit of his stomach and at the base of his skull, each spreading their icy fingers through his body. “Cut it out!” he hissed as he tried to turn over so that he might be able to claw his way out of this burgeoning surreal nightmare. Scarecrow’s grip didn’t loosen, however, and the chill under his skin ate away at his strength.

 

_Let it out…_

 

To one side, the floating figure of his uncle started to form out of orange and black; that couldn’t be right, there was no way that Alhazred was there, in that room, because he was back home… wasn’t he? A quiet drip-drip-drip reached his ears –how did he hear that over his own thundering heartbeat and rapid breathing?– drawing Zet’s eyes to the scientist’s claws… Bloody claws… Red splattered across the golden mask and white robe, fighting for space alongside dark smudges…

 

_You can free yourself from this…_

 

On the other side, more bodies shambled out of the darkness, black skin cracking further with each step to let loose even more flames, their legs being the first things to crumble into nothing more than chunks of used coal as they neared him. When one fell, another appeared to take its place, issuing low moans and quiet sobs. The verdanet tried again to pull himself away from it all, but his body refused to move as he directed it to, his muscles stiff –from cold or sheer tension, he couldn’t even tell anymore.

 

_All you have to do is sleep…_

 

“No… no, no, no…”

 

“ _What do you see, little cat?_ ” The brunet’s voice was a garbled mess, rasping and growling and manic and calm and mocking and comforting all at once. “ _Tell the Scarecrow your deepest fears, and I’ll chase them all away. It’s what I’m here for._ ”

 

Zet latched onto the only lifeline he could, staring directly into Scarecrow’s eyes, desperately trying to ignore anything else. “Uncle Al’s covered in… who’d he kill, this time? There’s blood all over…” He shuddered and flinched violently as Alhazred’s characteristic static-like cackle cut right through him. “You’ve got to put it out… The fire’s everywhere –doesn’t that hurt?!”

 

_Go to sleep, you poor fool…_

 

The metallic keening noise started up again. Where was it coming from? It was stealing his breath; wait… was it coming from him? Clumps of charcoal fingers rolled to a stop beside his head, searing heat still exuding from every crumb. Above him, Scarecrow’s head tilted beyond what a human’s neck could manage without ripping the spine from its rightful place, drawing a choked sob out of Zet’s throat. “No, no, don’t do that! Necks don’t go that far, stop it!”

 

_Fall into sweet, sweet, oblivion…_

 

Ice had filled most of his body, making the heat from the dancing orange monster feel even hotter. One more shadowy mass broke away –he couldn’t ignore it, it stood right by his head, looking down at both of them with blood-red eyes and a terrifyingly-familiar fanged grin; he’d seen it so many times since arriving, seen it plague the edges of his awareness… Blackness solidified into a nearly-humanlike shape, spiralled up from its head in a crown of twisted horns and cradled a flame like something precious, flowed out from behind it in a long tail, burst from its back into large wings… This newest nightmare figure crouched down, and Zet felt the faint brush of claws in his hair.

 

_Give me more!_

 

Its claws tightened, pulling harshly and forcing him to look directly at it. Cracks ran all over its body, just like they did over Crane’s, freeing embers into the room. Zet couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t…

 

_I’m here for what’s mine._

 

**~*~|Bone-deep Dread|~*~**

 

Scarecrow drank it all in; every movement, every sound, every moment of stillness, every silence… Steadily, fear had practically begun to ooze from each one of the boy’s cells, weaving a heady cocktail that might have turned a less-controlled incarnation of the fearmonger into little more than a drunken mess. Their shoulders shook with barely-contained laughter as they rode the high nurtured by Zet’s reactions. The doctor poked and prodded, slowly untangling their patient’s defences.

 

When the verdanet’s head jerked back to stare at something above them, Scarecrow watched and waited eagerly; what did he see, there? What frightening illusions filled his senses? “…Get away from me…” Zet breathed. Fear –terror… no, that was horror– was a subtle but heavy note in the boy’s voice.

 

It was beautiful, there was no other word to describe it… and like anything truly beautiful, it was also so fleeting, so fragile.

 

A chill feathered down their back, making the Scarecrow pause. Beneath them, Zet now tried to shift towards them, low mutters of ‘better burned than you, no, go away’ repeating in that same tone over and over. The cold gripped tighter and their mouth felt dry all of a sudden, coupled with a peculiar tightness around their throat and ribcage, while a prickling feeling teased at the back of their neck.

 

Puzzled, the brunet’s alter-ego frowned, mentally-nudging at the doctor. _What’s going on, Jonny?_

 

It took Jonathan a while to respond, and when he did… he was in awe. _‘It’s fear…’_

 

 _Fear? Of course he’s scared, but why do I feel like this?_ Scarecrow’s attention was tugged back to their prey as another bout of struggles started. The boy managed to squirm his way onto his stomach before Scarecrow was able to get a strong enough grip on him to make his body fall still once more. In this new position, the discomfort –was it, though? It felt fantastic at the same time, like a long-forgotten favourite blanket that, while becoming threadbare and dirty, still had the almost-supernatural capacity to lull you to sleep– intensified. “ _Hush, little kitty, don’t do a thing, this Scarecrow’s got you pinned…_ ”

 

 _‘We’re… actually afraid.’_ Jonathan continued, and the sensation of his warm breath by their ear thawed some of the cold that had gathered. The Scarecrow turned his words over, assessing their validity, tilting their head almost-painfully to the side as it did so. _‘I don’t know how… but…’_

 

“ _…I think we’ll keep you, Zet._ ”

 

The verdanet’s body started to shiver at the same time that the glorious feeling that seemed to permeate the air of the cellblock vanished, although it quickly became apparent that the movements weren’t from further fear… He was snickering.

 

“ _Keep me…?_ ” the boy asked, each letter accentuated oddly, drawn out and sharp. Both sides of the brunet’s mind focused on him, watching the side of Zet’s face that was exposed when he turned his head to the side… gold seeking out blue with a laziness that was completely out-of-place, considering the chemicals that were undoubtedly still in his system. “ _I’m not a pet, you know._ ”

 

Easing back into the forefront, Jonathan narrowed his eyes slightly. “There’s more than one way to ‘keep’ someone.”

 

The boy grinned, baring his fangs. “ _I know that… I think I prefer your Fear a bit more than you, Crane –we’ve got more in common. Bring it back out. You still listen regardless, don’t you?_ ”

 

Doctor Crane was now certain… This wasn’t the same Zet his counterpart had injected his toxin into, but was probably instead some other facet of his psyche. Interesting and definitely something to look further into later; for now, he’d do as he was asked, swapping places once more.

 

“ _Much better…_ ” the cat-eyed boy stated with an awkward nod, somehow seeing the shift. “ _That stuff you put in me, what is it?_ ”

 

Scarecrow cocked their head to the side again as it regarded their prey. “ _Fear toxin… Jonny’s home brew, you could say. Ya got me at a disadvantage, though…_ ” it teased, earning a harsh bark of laughter that was so unlike Zet’s typical fare that the doctor’s alter-ego found itself frowning slightly at the difference, before shrugging it off as unimportant, mere seconds later.

 

“ _Impressive… and no wonder it worked…_ ” Now, it was a snicker. “ _Did you like his little present, Fear?_ ”

 

So that was it, Scarecrow added its own snicker to the discordant melody of their patient’s. “ _It’s something special, I’ll give ya that~! So, you’re not quite Zet… what do we call ya?_ ”

 

“ _…Call me whatever you want as a name, but remember something well –I’m Hate like you’re Fear. That cocktail, it let me out again…_ ” Zet’s face took on a bemused expression. “ _I don’t feel ‘thankful’ very often, Fear… Be glad._ ”

 

“ _Oh, I am._ ” Pushing every scrap of certainty into the strangely-breathless reply, Scarecrow’s grip on Zet’s body tightened. “ _Jonny-boy is, too. Now, how did kit-kitty-cat do that?_ ” The word ‘do’ had such emphasis on it that it may as well have been shouted rather than simply said. “ _We’ve had several doses of our –Jonny’s– toxin over the years; it messed up our brain, so we don’t get to feel it very often._ ”

 

Golden eyes lit up with what could only be called a form of sadistic glee. “ _…I’m no pet, but he could be… An empathic little brat that you feed that stuff to whenever you want a hit, and I get to come out and play without any struggles afterwards…_ ”

 

 _‘Empathy? As in, what we felt was the same fear he did?’_ the doctor asked.

 

As a reply for both sides of the conversation, the Scarecrow cackled and grinned and nodded eagerly. “ _That sounds good enough for me!_ ”

 

 


End file.
